In Sickness and In Health
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: Emma winced, which turned into a full-brown cringe when she heard her father sneezing in the bedroom. Oh no indeed. Things were about to get so much more exhausting, weren't they? "I hate to tell you, Mom, but I think you and Dad are coming down with the squirt's cold."
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** In Sickness and In Health  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Emma winced, which turned into a full-brown cringe when she heard her father sneezing in the bedroom. Oh no indeed. Things were about to get so much more exhausting, weren't they? "I hate to tell you, Mom, but I think you and Dad are coming down with the squirt's cold."  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Set post-4x11, "Heroes and Villains."  
><strong>RatingWarning:** T, for language, mostly. Charming Family fluff & hurt/comfort and probably some Captain Swan stuff, too, just because I don't think I'll be able to control myself.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just borrowing them to pass the time until freakin' _March_.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Fearlessness721 asked me for a story a la "Story Hour" and "Watch Over Me" where an illness sweeps through the Charming Family and everyone has to take turns taking care of everyone else. I loved the idea to pieces and knew I'd be able to get a multi-chapter out if it, so, _finally_, here we be! There are a couple winks and nods to both "Story Hour" and "Watch Over Me" below, but you don't have to have read those to follow this. Feedback makes my day! Enjoy. :)

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><p>"Charming?" Snow White called from her bedroom. "Will you bring me the bulb syringe?"<p>

Emma Swan winced as her father stood up to do as his wife asked. She might as well start preparing herself for the sound barrier to be shattered now; little Neal _hated_ the bulb syringe. Sure enough, not even a minute after her father disappeared into the bedroom, baby wails filled the small apartment.

Poor kid.

Though Emma only had false memories of raising a baby, she was very much aware of the first rule of babies: the first time the baby got sick, the parents flipped the hell out. It didn't matter who the parents were or what hardships they'd previously conquered. Even if the parents had lived through, say, wars and evil stepmothers trying to kill them and Dark Curses, that mother and father would turn into panic-riddled worrywarts the second the infant sniffled.

At first, baby Neal's occasional little sneezes were freakin' adorable. Most things babies did, no matter how mundane, were generally adorable. But a day or so later, his little sneezes started becoming more frequent, sending Snow and David into the first stage of Panicked Parent Syndrome. And as soon as they realized that their little prince was so congested that he was having a hard time nursing, they skipped right over the rest of the stages Panicked Parent Syndrome and headed straight for Panicked Parent Crisis Mode.

"The squirt just has a cold," Emma had tried to tell them as they hurriedly packed a diaper bag for the trip down to the hospital.

They'd paid her no mind, which she'd expected. The need for a medical professional to check out their little prince was as much for their peace of mind as it was Neal's well-being.

And when they'd returned to the apartment an hour later and sheepishly informed their daughter and grandson that Dr. Whale's official diagnosis was rhinovirus – aka the common cold – Emma hadn't had the heart to give them an I told you so.

The twenty-four hours since had been filled with home cold treatments, flustered parents, a _very_ cranky baby, and a big sister who was trying to help while also trying not to step on anyone's toes. Little Neal was still so young that modern medicine was more dangerous to him than his illness, so Emma got to see firsthand how her colds more than likely would have been treated if she'd grown up in the Enchanted Forest.

Her parents had bathed her little brother to keep any and all fevers at bay, kept him hydrated, and, when the congestion became too much for his little respiratory system, they began suctioning his nose. And holy crap, having his nose suctioned was nowhere near top of the list of Things Prince Neal Enjoyed.

His wails were sending tears to his sister's eyes. If _she_ wanted to go in there and scoop him up and just hold him until he quieted, she couldn't imagine the mental agony her parents were in. She pushed herself up from the sofa and crossed the apartment to her parents' room.

A quick peek into the room from the doorway proved her fears were well founded. The poor little squirt was squirming in David's grip. David had paled visibly at having to hold his son down, and Snow was on the verge of tears. "I know, little prince," she was murmuring as she tried to get the tip of the syringe in his nose. (He, of course, was having none of it and kept turning away from her.) "But all of that stuff needs to come out so you can sleep."

"You know," Emma said over the sound of her brother's wails, "I have memories of taking Henry into the bathroom with me and running the shower to let the steam help clear his head."

Snow and David stared at each other, blinked, and then looked at Emma. "Of course!" Snow cried, setting the bulb syringe down. David picked Neal up and held him close, murmuring comforts in his little ear. "We even did that with you when you had that awful cold just after we returned from the Enchanted Forest!"

Before Emma had the chance to even formulate a reply, her parents filed out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. Snow turned on the shower as David perched on the closed lid of the toilet. Then Snow closed the door so they could make their own personal steam room.

Emma smiled. Were her poor parents not so exhausted and worried, they'd have thought of the steam room on their own.

Only when Neal stopped wailing did Emma reclaim her seat on the couch. Barely ten minutes later, the shower turned off and Snow and David emerged from the bathroom, a soundly sleeping Neal curled up in David's arms. Emma winced again; her parents looked every bit as exhausted as the squirt.

As one, the two of them slipped back into the bedroom to tuck their sick little boy in for the night. Or if not the night, at the very least the next couple of hours. He didn't sleep through the night yet normally, never mind with a cold. Emma heard the humidifier start up a minute or so later and then her poor parents tiptoed from the bedroom.

"The poor little baby," Snow said as she eased down on the sofa next to her daughter. "I hate that he's sick."

"As do I," David agreed as he plopped down on the coffee table. That was yet another indication of her parents' exhaustion, by the way; Snow was actually allowing someone to sit on the coffee table. "I wish I could just snap my fingers and make him better."

Emma did, too. Her little brother's suffering tore at her heart. What was even more awful was that she was the only person in the apartment who actually could snap her fingers and make him better, if her magic had worked its way up to healing yet.

It hadn't. She'd tried ... more than once. No dice.

Seeing her parents now made her think back to all the colds and sniffles and fevers Henry had when she was raising him. The memories may not have been real but they certainly felt real enough. "It's such a hard thing watching your kid be sick," she agreed.

"No matter how old the child is," Snow said, a weary smile on her face as she tucked a lock of Emma's hair behind her ear. "I still remember how scary it was when you had pneumonia."

Sweet Jesus, that felt like a lifetime ago. Emma only had the vaguest of memories of the worst of her bout with pneumonia. Mostly she remembered those couple of days after her release from the hospital. Her parents had pretty much confined her to her bed with field trips every now and again to the couch. It had been annoying as all get-out but, as with most annoying things, her parents had been right. She'd needed the rest.

"I can imagine," she said softly. From what little she did remember, she'd been _really_ sick. Dangerously high fever, fluid in her lungs, the whole nine yards.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything else, they heard a key turning in the front door. The door slowly opened to reveal a trying-to-be-silent Henry, home from his day with Regina. Emma waved to him, and he smiled. "I didn't hear baby cries," he murmured by way of a greeting, "so I thought I should be quiet."

Emma smiled at her son's thoughtfulness. Snow and David smiled in relief. "Good thinking, kid," she said.

After hanging up his jacket and scarf, he joined his grandfather on the coffee table. Emma held her breath, waiting for Snow to realize she now had two family members using the non-sitting furniture as seats, but it never happened. A glance over at her proved that she was definitely too tired to care; she was already half-asleep.

Feeling a weird sense of daughterly duty, Emma shifted closer to Snow. The smile that lit Snow's face when she did so was worth the leap of faith – and the mushiness that ensued. Snow wrapped her arm around Emma's shoulders, taking full advantage of the cuddle.

"Did you have a good day?" Emma asked Henry.

"I had an awesome day," he said excitedly. Since things in Storybrooke had been calm for a while – well, a few days, really, but in Storybrooke, a few days was a friggin' streak that no one dared comment on lest the streak end – Regina had started taking Henry down to the stables for riding lessons. They hadn't done much more than walk around the ring but the kid absolutely adored it.

"I'm glad," Emma smiled.

A few minutes passed with not even a peep from the squirt. Emma felt Snow relax beside her; he was going to stay asleep for the next little while, then. Henry headed upstairs to change into his pajamas, and Emma decided to turn on the television.

"Does anyone care what we watch?" she asked as David squeezed in on her other side.

"No," her parents said in unison.

She was right there with them. As a matter of fact, she highly doubted any of them would last more than a half hour into anything she put on. The squirt had run their parents ragged throughout the day and his cranky fussing had kept everyone awake most of the previous night, Emma and Henry included.

When Henry came back downstairs, he settled on the floor at Emma's feet. He didn't have any objection to what was on the television, either, so Emma set the remote control down next to her and tried to focus on the flickering images on the TV.

Some time later, she found herself blinking awake to her baby brother's wails. David shifted next to her before standing and groggily mumbling, "I'll get him."

He stumbled over Henry, who was curled up asleep on the floor.

Emma knew she should get her kid to bed but in all honesty, she was too tired to move. Instead, she snuggled closer to Snow, who sleepily tightened her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

Just as Emma was drifting off again, something about her mother's breathing caught her attention. It sounded … nasally.

_Oh_ no.

"Mom?" Emma asked softly as she pulled out of her mom's embrace and sat up straight. "Do you feel all right?"

Snow blinked her eyes open at Emma's movement. "Aside from needing a good night's sleep? Yes. Why?"

And then she sneezed. Three times in a row.

Emma winced, which turned into a full-brown cringe when she heard her father sneezing in the bedroom. Oh no indeed. Things were about to get so much more exhausting, weren't they? "I hate to tell you, Mom, but I think you and Dad are coming down with the squirt's cold."

Snow's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to deny it but another sneeze escaped instead. As she brought her hand down from her mouth, she involuntarily sniffled and then groaned. "I hate to agree with you on this, sweetheart, but I think you're right."

This, Emma realized, was the corollary to the first rule of babies: when the baby got sick, _everyone_ got sick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** You guys are once again the best readers ever. Thank you for all the reviews and follows and favorites! Hope you like Chapter Two. :)

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><p><em>Great<em>, Emma thought, _just great_. Her baby brother was now Patient Zero.

It could have been worse, she supposed. It was just a cold. Still, colds ran the gamut from mildly annoying to knock one on one's ass, and since the only person suffering through the worst of it right now was less than two months old, they had no idea what flavor this particular cold came in. Heaving a sigh, Emma pushed herself up from the couch. If both Snow and David were coming down with this sucker, they needed to be prepared.

"Where're you going?" Snow mumbled, making Emma wince. She'd apparently been almost asleep again and she'd roused when Emma moved.

"To the pharmacy," Emma replied. Snow sat up straight, the confusion in her eyes betraying the silent motherly demand for an explanation. "The squirt may not be able to take modern cold medicine but you and Dad certainly can. I don't know what we've got in the medicine cabinet but something tells me it's not going to be enough to treat the both of you at the same time."

"No, probably not," Snow allowed, "but I'm sure whatever we have will be enough to get us through till the morning. Besides, I don't even feel it yet." A sneeze chose that moment to escape, thereby disproving her point.

Emma smirked. She was starting to see where her stubborn streak came from. "You may not feel it yet but you'll both be up shit's creek if it hits you in the middle of the night. The pharmacy will be closed."

Snow first winced at Emma's language, then glanced at the clock, clearly surprised that it wasn't already the middle of the night. Finally, she sighed. "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Nope. And if you keep me here talking much longer, the pharmacy's going to be closed by the time I get there, which would mean I would have made the trip out for nothing."

Snow sighed again, and Emma knew victory was hers. Her mother wouldn't want her trip to be pointless. "All right. Just … be careful. You're as exhausted as we are."

A touched smile tugged at the corners of Emma's mouth. Snow was _worried _about her, hence her arguing. "I'll be careful and quick," she assured her mother, who smiled in response.

Before heading for the door, Emma crouched down and shook Henry's shoulder. He groaned and blearily blinked his eyes open. "Go to bed, kid," she murmured. "Your bed's a lot more comfortable than the floor."

"'Kay," a half-asleep Henry mumbled. He pushed himself to his feet and wrapped Emma in a quick hug. She pressed a good night kiss to the top of his head. Then he was off, shuffling toward the metal staircase as if on auto-pilot.

Snow followed closely behind him, taking over her daughter's tucking-in duties. "Thanks," Emma said.

"You're welcome. Now go, and come back safe."

Emma rolled her eyes – because the pharmacy was a five-minute drive from their apartment, for crying out loud – but she was smiling. That annoying overprotection was coming from a place of deep, pure love, and yeah, it was annoying but it also touched Emma's heart.

It wasn't until she climbed into her car that she admitted Snow may have been onto something. The two flights of stairs had winded her. _Damn_, this newfound peace in Storybrooke was making her soft. She used to be able to handle a couple of days without sleep, conducting an overnight stakeout and then going about the next day as usual. Now one sleepless night spent listening to a baby cry was knocking her on her ass.

She took a deep breath as she turned the key in the ignition. Then she cranked her radio and rolled her window down. Just in case.

Thankfully, the five-minute drive to the pharmacy was uneventful. She even scored a parking spot right out front – the ten minutes to closing time were clearly to thank for that. Once inside, she headed straight for the cough and cold aisle. It wasn't until she was faced with boxes upon boxes of medication that she realized she hadn't checked to see what they already had at home.

Damn.

Since the squirt's sneezing and nose congestion indicated a head cold, Emma grabbed a box of head cold pills. Daytime formulation, because for one, she hated the nighttime formulation, and for another, she couldn't imagine her parents would want to take the nighttime pills with little Neal still sick. Then, thinking better of it, she grabbed a second box; two people with a cold would decimate the single box in a day.

Cold medicine in hand, she tracked down the cleaning supplies and grabbed some Lysol wipes. On her way to the register, she snagged a bottle of hand sanitizer. It was probably all too little, too late, since the cold was clearly spreading, but it was worth a shot.

As soon as she set her items on the counter to be rung up, Mr. Clark raised his eyebrows at her. "My little brother decided to share," Emma said by way of an explanation. "My parents now sound like … well, you."

The news of the squirt's cold must have reached the Dwarfs because Mr. Clark smiled. "Sorry to hear. I hope this all helps." He paused to sneeze into a handkerchief and then handed her her purchases. Emma left the pharmacy with three minutes left to spare before closing time.

By the time she pulled back into her parking space at the apartment building, she was completely wiped. All right, seriously, what the hell? Maybe the squirt had just woken her up at the wrong part of her sleep cycle. She just needed to get back inside so she could check on her parents and kid and baby brother, and then she could head to bed.

The two flights of stairs were worse the second time around but she made it. As Emma approached the apartment door, there was no indication of baby cries. She hoped, for her parents' sake, that meant he'd gone back to sleep.

She opened the door to find the place empty. Where the hell was everyone? Henry was upstairs, of course, and Neal was probably in his crib, but where were her parents?

The only place they could possibly be was their bedroom and that was exactly where she found them. Both of them were sound asleep on their bed, on top of the covers and everything. Emma smirked. After a cursory check on her sick little brother – still asleep and breathing okay despite his congestion – she headed back out to the kitchen.

She poured two glasses of water and then headed to the bathroom to – belatedly – check their cold medicine stash. It was a good thing she grabbed two boxes; they only had three doses left in the box in the medicine cabinet. She freed two of those doses from the blister pack, made a quick pitstop at the kitchen counter to pick up the water glasses, and carried everything into her parents' room. "Guys," she murmured softly.

Nothing.

Heaving a soft sigh, she set her father's medicine and glass on the nightstand. Then she rounded the bed and gently shook her mother's shoulder. "Mom."

Snow started awake, causing Emma to smile sheepishly at her. "Sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I'm home and I have medicine for you. It's not the nighttime stuff because I figured you'd want to be able to wake up when the squirt needs you."

Snow gave a bleary smile as she sat up and took the proffered medicine and water from her daughter's hands. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome." Trusting Snow to take her medicine without prodding, Emma focused her attention on her father.

A gentle shake of his shoulder roused him. "Emma?" he asked groggily. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," she assured him. "Take these. Hopefully it'll help with what the squirt decided to share."

David blinked a couple of times before realizing what his daughter was holding out to him. He smiled as he took the pills and glass from her hands. "Thanks, kiddo."

"Don't mention it. Now, you both want to actually get under the covers and go to sleep while you can, or what?"

They chuckled softly and, after wishing her quiet good nights, did exactly as she suggested. That was Emma's cue to get the hell out.

She decided to check on her brother one final time and was glad she did. He was squirming in the crib, his little face scrunched up against either his congestion or the general ickiness of being sick. Just as he started to whimper, Emma performed what Killian had dubbed her "magic touch."

It didn't use any actual magic at all. It was a simple caress of the little squirt's forehead, from his hairline down to the bridge of his nose and back again with a soft, barely audible, "Shhh" for accompaniment.

This time, big sister only needed to shush him twice. He calmed almost instantly, settling back into sleep. Emma smiled down at her brother before backing away from the crib and tiptoeing from the room. "Good night, guys," she murmured to her parents, who must have been already mostly asleep again. She only got a couple of mumbles in return.

Emma turned the lights off downstairs, leaving the three-way lamp by the sofa on its lowest setting as a nightlight. If tonight was anything like last night, the peace wasn't going to last long. One or both of her parents were going to be up with the squirt, and they would need the light. After making sure the deadbolt was set, she was finally ready to head upstairs and fall into bed herself.

Henry was indeed tucked up in his daybed, sound asleep. Thankfully, his breathing sounded clear. It didn't seem like he'd caught the baby's cold yet and she was going to try to keep it that way. After changing into pajamas – yoga pants and a tank top because she was kind of hot – she flopped down on her bed and practically sank into her pillows.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was the need to call Regina and let her know that they were inadvertently breeding the cold in the apartment. Maybe Henry could stay there for the duration of the Great Cold Outbreak. Somewhere next to that thought was a desire to call Killian, just to hear his voice.

And somewhere even further back was a little voice telling her to pull at that thread a little bit, to question _why_ she wanted to call Killian just to hear his voice, but before she could even reach a hand out to grab her phone, she was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** You guys, y'all are amazing. It's been a total blast to watch the reviews roll in with your guesses as to where this is all going. So many of you have gotten it right! This is just the beginning for this poor sick family, so keep the guesses coming! ;)

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><p>Emma was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, even though there was nothing within the dream that would have indicated as much … aside from Elsa still being in Storybrooke. The two of them were sitting at the sheriff's station, practicing magic together. Elsa was conjuring the biggest snowflakes Emma had ever seen in her life, and Emma's job was to try to make them swirl around the room using her own magic.<p>

It was a magical exercise the two of them had performed many times, both trying to get a handle on powers too great for their control. There was a fuzziness around the edges of it, though, that told Emma it was a dream. Suddenly, disembodied baby cries filled the sheriff's station. The dreamscape faded, taking Elsa with it, and soon enough Emma realized that the cries were real. She dragged her eyes open and squinted at her bedside clock.

It was just after midnight. "Oh, squirt," she groaned as she turned onto her back. She hadn't even slept three hours.

She wanted nothing more than to pull the blankets over her head and just lie still until she fell back to sleep but that odd sense of daughterly duty that had prompted her to cuddle up to her mom earlier was nagging at her again. Heaving a sigh, she kicked off her covers and climbed out of bed.

A quick check on Henry proved that the cries hadn't disturbed him. Emma figured they probably wouldn't; between the sleeplessness of the previous night and the activities at the stables all day, the kid was completely wiped. A parade in the loft probably wouldn't wake him right about now.

His breathing still sounded clear and not at all congested, too. Emma smiled, thankful for small miracles.

She tiptoed downstairs to find Snow pacing the kitchen while bouncing Neal in her arms and David working on getting the bathroom filled with steam again. "Is he okay?" she asked, squinting against the light from both the lamp she'd left on and the bulb on the range.

"He's fine," Snow assured her. "Just congested again. The poor little guy couldn't breathe."

Emma swore her heart skipped a beat. Couldn't breathe? Her baby brother couldn't breathe? Why the hell were her parents so _calm_? They'd just woken up to find their infant unable to breathe!

A second later, clarity came. Her mother hadn't meant that the squirt couldn't breathe at all. She'd only meant he'd felt like he was unable to breathe properly due to his nasal congestion. A breath of relief escaped her lips in a puff. "Oh."

She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud, not until Snow smirked at her. Emma felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. She'd totally missed the context clue bus, there, hadn't she? If anyone asked, she was totally blaming it on the fact that she'd slept less than eight hours in the last forty-eight.

Baby Neal's cries grew louder and so, after giving her daughter a smile, Snow disappeared into the bathroom behind a swirl of steam. Emma sighed. Now what? She wanted more than anything to go back to bed and sleep for a week but with her parents coming down with the squirt's cold, she didn't want to leave until she knew they were okay.

Sighing, she set a pot on the stove and grabbed the milk from the fridge. _Since we're all up at early-thirty_, she thought, _I might as well make cocoa for everyone_.

As she gathered the ingredients for the cocoa, she listened. The closed door and running water muffled all but the squirt's cries and the barest hints of David's gentle murmuring and Snow's soft humming. It took a little bit of doing but after a few minutes, little Neal began to calm, his cries fading to whimpers. Another couple of minutes and the whimpers trickled off to silence.

The shower turned off and her parents emerged from the bathroom with a completely calm and – unfortunately, for this time of night – wide awake little squirt.

The cocoa smelled heavenly. David inhaled as deeply as he could through his stuffed nose and gave his daughter a touched smile. "Emma, you didn't have to stay up and do this."

"I know," she shrugged. "It's just that cocoa always makes me feel better when I have a cold and I thought you guys might like some."

An expression that was equal parts surprise and touched amusement passed between husband and wife. "Do my eyes and ears deceive me," David said, winking at Snow before turning a smirk on Emma, "or is our daughter taking care of her parents?"

"I don't think you're being deceived," Snow confirmed, smiling teasingly. "I believe our daughter has taken it upon herself to do our job."

Emma playfully rolled her eyes. "It's way too late and I'm way too sleep-deprived for teasing like this."

Snow and David both snickered. "Sorry, kiddo," David said as he stepped up to her and pressed a grateful kiss to the side of her head. "By all means, make all the midnight cocoa you want."

When little Neal began to fuss, Snow took it as her cue to go sit down on the sofa with him. David stayed with Emma so he could help his daughter. He pulled the can of whipped cream from the fridge, the mugs from the cabinet, and the cinnamon from the spice rack while she stirred the cocoa.

"How are you feeling?" Emma asked as he set everything on the counter for her.

"A little out of it," he answered honestly, "but it's hard to tell whether that's from the cold or the lack of sleep."

"Probably a little bit of both." Emma's own head was kind of swimming, which she blamed fully on the lack of sleep.

He smiled at her, then asked gently, "Why are you really doing this?"

"Why am I really doing what?"

"You don't need to stay up with us. We've got everything under control."

"I know," she assured him. "It's just … you guys sat with me when I was sick. Hell, the entire time I was in the hospital, neither of you left my side." She shrugged lamely, dropping her gaze down to the cocoa. "I'm just trying to return the favor. Isn't this what families do? Take care of each other?"

David placed his forefinger under her chin and lifted it so she would look at him. "Of course it's what families do," he said, giving her a touched, watery smile. "You are the best daughter we could ask for."

She smiled as well, then backed up a step because the cocoa was ready. David smirked but he allowed her to carry on without another word. That was apparently the end of the mushiness for the evening, thank goodness.

Emma poured the steaming cocoa into the mugs and topped each one of them with the whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. David grabbed two of the mugs, leaving her to carry only hers to the living room. She knew better than to protest, so she simply followed after him with a sigh.

Snow accepted the mug from David with a smile. After taking her first sip, she turned that smile on her daughter. "Oh, sweetheart, you were right. This does feel wonderful."

"On your throat?" Emma asked. Snow nodded. Emma mentally filed that symptom away for future reference.

She had, however, officially been standing far too long for so late at night. She had a funny feeling her parents would protest if she tried to squeeze in with them – on account of them being sick and all – so she decided to press her luck and sit down on the coffee table. Snow smirked at her but she didn't tell her to move, so Emma stayed.

"How's the little guy doing?" she asked.

"Better now that he can breathe through his nose again," Snow replied, gently running her finger down Neal's little cheek. "He doesn't seem at all sleepy, though."

There was an air of desperation in her tone, and for the first time, Emma realized this was probably going to be one of those knock one on one's ass colds. She could see it in her parents' faces: the exhaustion and sinus congestion darkening the area underneath their eyes, the winces when they swallowed or sniffled or sneezed.

Her parents were sick themselves, and they needed their rest, whether the squirt wanted to sleep or not. "Why don't you let me sit with him for a little while?"

They both looked up at her sharply. "Emma," David started, "we can't ask you to–"

"You're not asking, I'm offering," she clarified. "Look, you're both exhausted. I'll stay out here with him so you two can get a couple hours of sleep. If you don't want this cold kicking your ass, you need to stay on top of it with the medicine and you need to rest."

Snow opened her mouth to protest but Emma shook her head, stopping her impending argument before it could even begin. "I know you want to take care of him but you need to take care of you, too."

"You're exhausted, too, Emma," Snow said gently.

"But I'm not sick. You are."

Her parents exchanged a glance at that, one that started out surprised but turned somewhat amused and knowing a second later. After one of those silent conversations the two of them often had – this one leaving Emma frowning in confusion – David said, "The more you're around him, the more chance you have of getting sick."

Emma heaved a sigh. She should have known this wasn't going to be easy. After all, she'd inherited her own stubbornness from the two people sitting in front of her. Now the question was how the hell could she convince her parents to take care of themselves for a couple of hours?

After a moment of thought, it came to her. An utterly genius idea that she stole from her son, since it always worked when he pulled the same kind of crap on her. "Please," she said, putting a slightly pleading expression on her face, "just let me help."

Snow and David exchanged another glance at that, and she could see in their eyes that they were about to break. And sure enough, Snow gave a sigh of defeat. "All right, just for another couple of hours."

Emma smiled to herself. Bingo!

"The second he starts fussing, you come get us, all right?" David asked.

"Will do," she promised.

They finished their cocoa in silence. After setting her empty mug on the end table, Snow shifted forward to hand the squirt over to his big sister. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said, standing when she was sure Emma had the baby comfortably in hand. She placed a kiss on the top of Emma's head.

Emma couldn't hide her touched smile at the affection. "Get some rest," she said to both Snow and David.

"We will," David assured her as he handed her the wipes for the poor baby's nose. "Thanks, kiddo."

"You're welcome."

As her parents shuffled off to their bedroom, Emma shifted over to the couch to make herself comfortable for the duration. She had no idea how long Neal was going to be awake but from the clarity in his blue eyes, she figured it was going to be a while. "It's just you and me for the next little bit, squirt," she murmured as she brushed her thumb down his little cheek. "What do you want to do?"

Neal scrunched his nose and sneezed. Sighing, Emma grabbed a wipe and cleaned his nose. "Bless you."

He wrapped his tiny hand around her index finger, as if saying thank you. She smiled.

And then she felt it, a tiny tickle in her nose that let her know a sneeze of her own was imminent. She quickly covered her mouth and when the sneeze escaped, her head throbbed and her throat felt like it was on fire.

_Oh _no.

No. No, it couldn't be. She couldn't be sick, too. She'd been fine! Except for the extreme tiredness. And the fuzzy thoughts. But other than that, she'd been perfectly fine!

Then she remembered that look her parents had shared when she'd said she wasn't sick. They'd known then, hadn't they? They'd _known_ she was sick. That was why they'd been railing against her offers of help; they'd been trying to get her to go back to bed because they knew she was coming down with the squirt's cold.

Another sneezed escaped, and this time, the headache that came with it didn't go away. Aw, _shit_.

Emma finally had to admit it: her little brother had most definitely gotten her sick, too. Wonderful, just wonderful. At this rate, she should have gotten three boxes of cold medicine.

"You know, squirt," she sighed, addressing the baby as she stood and carried him to the bathroom so she could get some cold pills of her own, "you're so very lucky that you're cute."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Three things to know for this chapter: Big Sister Emma makes me happy, kids taking care of their parents never gets old, and I knew I wouldn't be able to help myself. O:)

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><p>Less than twenty minutes after settling back on the sofa with her baby brother, it became apparent to Emma that this was most definitely going to be a knock one on one's ass kind of cold.<p>

It was as if that second sneeze of hers had broken some kind of cold-virus barrier that had been keeping the illness mostly at bay. Both her nostrils were stuffed and any attempt at sniffling led to a sneezing fit. Her head pounded with sinus pressure. Her throat was scratchy and burned every time she swallowed.

But all that was mere discomfort compared to the body aches. Every single muscle she had – and some she didn't even know she had – throbbed every time she moved. She wanted nothing more than to go sit in a hot bath – and oh, a hot tub with the jets running full blast sounded so wonderful right about now but she would have settled for their regular tub in the bathroom – until everything stopped hurting.

And if Emma felt this awful, she couldn't imagine how her baby brother felt. Little Neal, who would have no idea why he couldn't breathe or why he hurt or why he felt so rotten. "Is it this bad for you, too, squirt?" she murmured when he began to whimper in her arms.

Her parents had told her to wake them when he started to fuss but she saw two problems with that. The first was that if her parents had it this bad, too, she was not about to wake them if they were somehow managing to sleep through it. The second was that she honestly didn't think she had the energy to get up from the couch.

As it was, it took more energy than Emma had to shift Neal in her arms so she could free a hand and attempt her magic touch. And when her index finger came to rest on his little forehead, she suddenly understood his fussiness.

His skin was hot to the touch.

"Oh, squirt, no good," she murmured. Then she took a deep breath and gathered the strength to push herself off the sofa.

She somehow managed to get herself and her little brother into the bathroom. She pulled one of the little baby bath towels and a washcloth off the shelf and then shuffled into the kitchen. Then she dug into the cabinet below the sink and freed the infant bathtub from its resting place.

"Well," she said as she set the tub in the sink and turned on the faucet, filling the tub with lukewarm water, "at least one of us gets a bath."

As soon as he got settled in the water, Neal's little whimpers tapered off. "There we go," Emma murmured, running the wet cloth over his little chest. He looked up at her with big, teary blue eyes and Emma felt her heart melting into a little puddle. "You are going to kill someone with those someday, squirt."

She kept him in the bath until the water turned cold. Then she lifted him out of the tub, wrapped him up in the towel, and crept into her parents' room to get a fresh diaper for him. Snow and David were still sleeping peacefully, thank goodness. They needed the rest.

Emma changed her brother on the sofa and then made herself comfortable in the corner of the couch. A glance up at the clock told her it had taken her almost an hour to give him his bath. She was freakin' _wiped_. Apparently, so was her brother. He yawned, and Emma smiled, deciding now was the time to try the magic touch.

"Shhh," she murmured as she brushed her index finger down his forehead. "Shhh." Soon enough, his little eyelids began to flutter.

Another couple of minutes of gentle caresses was all it took. And when the squirt finally gave in and let his eyes close, so did Emma. She just needed to give him a few minutes to fall into a deeper sleep and then she could set him down in his crib and stumble back up to bed.

What felt like moments later, she felt someone trying to slip Neal from her arms. She blinked her eyes open to find Henry standing over her, wincing sheepishly. "Sorry. I was trying to take him from you without waking you up. What are you doing down here?"

The light in the room was different than she remembered. The lamp was still on, as was the range light, but it seemed ... brighter somehow. "What time is it?"

"Almost five. I came down to use the bathroom and found you out here holding him."

Almost five? The last time she remembered looking at the clock, it had been a little past two. Holy shit, she'd been asleep for almost three hours! So had Neal, apparently, because she would have woken if he had.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Henry's concerned voice brought her back to the matter at hand. "Yeah, kid, I'm fine. Go back to bed. I'll just put him to bed and I'll be right up."

She started to stand with the intention of taking her brother from Henry and sending her kid back upstairs but a wave of dizziness forced her to sit back down hard. She leaned forward and placed her head in her hands to ride out the vertigo, which only made her sinus headache all the worse.

"You're not okay," Henry was saying to her. "I'm going to get him in his crib and I'll be right back."

He was gone before she gathered the presence of mind to tell him not to come back. He couldn't come back. He couldn't come anywhere near her. She did not want him coming down this.

She should have bought some damn surgical masks when she was at the pharmacy.

Moments later, Henry was indeed back. He crouched down in front of the sofa and pressed a glass of water into her hands. When had he poured this? She hadn't heard him at the sink. The glass felt cool and she had to stop herself from pressing it against her cheek. "Mom?" Henry asked, his face filling her field of vision. "What's wrong?"

"You need to back up, kid," she said as she sat up straight, backing away as much as she could. "I've got the squirt's cold. So do your grandparents. As soon as it's a decent hour, I want you to call Regina and ask her if you can stay there for a few days."

Henry did indeed back up, sitting down across from her on the coffee table. However, he shook his head at her second point. "I'm not leaving."

"It's not up for discussion, Henry," Emma said in her best mom voice – which, to be perfectly honest, sounded not at all authoritative and even a touch pathetic, what with her congestion and all. "I don't want you getting this, and there's no need for you to stay here with all of us if there's somewhere else you can go."

"I've already been exposed, Mom. If I'm going to get it, I'm going to get it. Leaving isn't going to help."

"Don't argue with me."

Except he was _her_ kid. Arguing was embedded in his DNA. "Mom. You can't move without groaning in pain and you've almost fallen asleep on me twice during this conversation."

She had? When? She didn't remember almost falling asleep. As far as she knew, this whole conversation had been continuous.

Henry wasn't done. "If Gramma and Gramps have it as bad as you do, none of you are going to be able to do anything. I feel perfectly fine, and there's the three of you and a baby to take care of. You need me to help."

They did need help but Emma was not about to accept that help from her twelve-year-old son, not when there was a chance he could avoid coming down with this monster of a cold.

And then it came to her. She'd have to tell him to swing by the pharmacy to grab a surgical mask before coming over and she hadn't at all intended for him to see her like this so soon into their whatever but … desperate times. "Will you go get my phone, please?" she asked Henry.

"If I get you your phone, do I get to stay here?"

"Henry."

He sighed but he did get up to do as she asked. As soon as he was up the stairs and out of her line of vision, Emma let her shoulders slump. Holy shit, even holding a conversation that short had left her exhausted.

It finally clicked in her aching head that she was overdue for a second dose of cold pills. Her parents, then, were _way_ overdue. She needed to get more medicine into all of them.

As she stumbled over to the kitchen table – why had she left her salvation, aka the bag from the pharmacy way over here? – she found herself wondering how the hell this was a cold. Forget knock her on her ass. This was knock her on her ass and then kick her while she was down for good measure.

Her poor parents.

Her poor little baby brother.

"I figured you probably weren't going to be able to make it back upstairs so … Mom?"

Henry had come back downstairs, her phone in one hand and one of the pillows from her bed in the other. He was frowning at her. Why was he frowning at her?

Oh. Maybe because she was leaning against the kitchen table as if it were the only thing holding her up. Truth be told, it probably was.

Henry followed her bleary gaze to the bag. He set the pillow and phone down and picked up the bag instead. "Is this what you were trying to get?"

Emma nodded weakly. "Me and Mom and Dad."

The kid's brow wrinkled but when he opened the bag to check the contents, he instantly understood. He tore open one of the boxes of medicine, popped two pills out of the blister pack, and handed them to Emma. "Do you need help getting back to the couch? Your water's there."

She shook her head. He didn't quite look like he believed her, and she could feel his worried eyes on her as she shuffled back to the sofa.

Even as he watched her – probably making sure she wasn't going to keel over or something – he popped four more pills out of the package. As soon as Emma was safely seated and had taken her medicine, he disappeared into his grandparents' room.

Emma heard him softly waking them, heard their groggy mumblings as they questioned what was going on. The conversation was soft, though, and she couldn't hear distinct words, only voices.

Eventually the voices went quiet and Henry emerged from the bedroom. He swung by the kitchen table to pick up both the pillow and her phone. "They asked for you," he murmured to her as he propped the pillow against the arm of the sofa. "I told them you were all right."

"Thanks, kid." The last thing she wanted right now was her parents hovering over her and making a fuss – and they would have, despite their own illness. "Did you happen to ask how they're doing?"

"They both said they were fine but they're making those same little groans when they move that you are."

Wonderful. So they had the body aches, too.

Henry dragged the blanket down from the top of the sofa and spread it out over her. Holy crap, her kid was tucking her in. "Aren't I supposed to be doing this to you?" she asked.

That got him to crack a smile. "You do it to me all the time. I should be able to do it to you this once. Now lie back." As soon as she was settled, he handed her the phone.

"There's Lysol and hand sanitizer in the bag," Emma told him. He nodded; he must have seen it when he found the cold pills. "Wash your hands and disinfect everything before you touch it." And it went without saying that as soon as it was light out, she was going to call Regina but there was no use arguing about it now.

"I will," he nodded.

"All right, kid, go back to bed."

He bent down to give her a good night kiss on the top of her head. "Good night … well, what's left of it."

That got her to smile, too. "Good night. And Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He smiled at her. "You're welcome. Feel better." Then, after turning off the lamp for her, he disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands as promised.

Emma forced herself to stay awake long enough to make sure Henry grabbed the Lysol on his way back up to the loft. She forced herself to stay awake long enough to unlock her phone, go into her texts, and find her message thread with Killian. And then she forced herself to stay awake just long enough to type and send a quick message: _Will you call me when you wake up? I need to ask you a favor._


	5. Chapter 5

Instant hot water, Killian Jones had discovered, was one of the most glorious things about this world. In the other realms, if one wanted hot water, one needed to boil a pot or cauldron over a fire. In this realm, all one had to do was turn a knob and wait a moment.

Yes, instant hot water was glorious. And something about standing under a steady spray of instant hot water made Killian believe that if everyone had access to this amazing invention, it could solve all the world's ills.

He'd recently mentioned this little of theory of his to Swan – who was the absolute most glorious thing about this world, of course – and she'd tried very hard not to chuckle. "I don't know about that," she'd said. Then she'd leaned over out of earshot of her parents and said, "Although, sharing a shower certainly has its benefits."

Which of course had led Killian to imagine all kinds of scenarios in which the two of them shared a shower, and he'd almost needed a shower of his own then and there, not hot but cold. Clearly able to predict his thought pattern, an endearingly maddening Swan had simply grinned at him.

He emerged from his bathroom at Granny's and stepped into the room proper, shivering slightly despite having dressed before stepping out of the swirling steam. Hot showers were glorious. Leaving the bathroom after a hot shower and emerging into comparatively much cooler air, on the other hand, that left a bit to be desired.

The sun was just beginning to rise but Killian thought he might head downstairs and see if Granny was in the kitchen at the diner anyway. She usually was.

Their early morning song and dance was actually beginning to become a highlight of his days. He would ask if he could order breakfast, she would bark at him for expecting to be fed before the diner officially opened, and he would offer her a doubloon for her troubles.

They performed the same routine every single morning. And though she always acted annoyed, he could always detect an amused sparkle in her eyes. He suspected their little exchange was beginning to become a highlight of her days as well.

Killian was just about to head out the door when he remembered his talking phone still sat on the night table. He'd spent centuries not having to take a little communication device with him wherever he went; remembering to tuck it in his pocket before leaving was a practice he hadn't quite made habit yet.

When he picked up the device, he was surprised to see a little envelope emblazoned with a little number one on the screen. If he remembered correctly, that meant he had an unread message. Now the question was, how in blazes did he retrieve it?

Swan had shown him, of course. She'd explained all about phone calls and voice messages and these short little notes that sometimes appeared on the screen. "Texts," she'd called them, which was an apt term. Of course, when Swan had realized that only half of what she was saying had sunk in, she'd just smiled and said, "You'll get it in time."

He finally remembered the instructions she'd given him and retrieved the message. It was from Swan, asking him to call her. A simple enough message, he supposed, but the time listed on it gave him pause. According to the talking phone, she'd sent the message just ten minutes ago when he was still in the shower … at half past five.

Emma Swan was never up at half past five. Not without a gallon of that bitter drink that she didn't even like but drank anyway and a whole lot of – admittedly endearing – grumbling and groaning.

Why the bloody hell was Emma Swan awake and sending him a little note at this hour of the morning? Fearing the worst – Storybrooke had been quiet for a few days now, after all, which was unheard of – Killian pressed the Emma button and waited for her to answer.

"Hello?" she mumbled into his ear.

Killian frowned. She didn't at all sound like herself. Had he woken her? "Emma, love?"

"You're up."

He detected a weary smile in her voice. "Aye, as are you. What are you doing awake at this early hour?"

"I need to ask you a favor."

She was mumbling, her voice soft and her words slightly slurred. "Your message said as much."

"Mm."

Emma didn't say anything else. Growing concerned, Killian listened to her breathe softly into the talking phone. The cadence of her breaths was rhythmic, almost as if she were asleep. "Swan?" he asked after a moment.

"Mm?"

Oh yes, she most definitely had fallen asleep. "Are you all right?"

"Mm. Yeah. Sort of. Shit, hold on." There was a rustling sound in his ear and then two distant sneezes. Then the rustling again before Emma said, "Sorry."

And in that instant, Killian finally understood. The young royal had passed his illness on to his big sister. She must have taken the talking phone away from her face so she wouldn't sneeze in his ear. "Bless you."

"Thanks." She sounded marginally more awake now. "Listen, I need to ask–"

"–me a favor," he finished for her.

"How'd you know?"

He had to work to swallow a chuckle at that one. Underneath his amusement, though, his concern was growing. How ill was she? "Never mind, love. What's the favor?"

"My brother decided to share with me and my mom and dad. Henry's fine so far, which is good because this is the worst cold I've ever had."

"I'll be right over," he assured her, reading between the lines. His Swan, so hesitant to ask for help even when she was asking for help.

"No," Emma said, surprising him. "Not right now. You have to get a mask from Mr. Clark."

A mask? Like one wore to a masquerade? If she wanted him to get a mask, the illness had her more addled than he'd thought. "What does a mask have to do with anything?"

"So you don't get sick, too," she said, as if that were the most obvious answer in all the realms.

How would a mask keep him from catching her illness? "I don't need a mask, love," Killian said gently. He decided to attempt this tactic since he had a feeling that continuing to argue the other point would just lead him further down this little rabbit hole of hers. "I'll be careful."

"No, you need to buy one at Mr. Clark's store. I don't want you getting sick because of us."

He sighed. Arguing with her when she was well was an exercise in patience. Arguing with her when she wasn't well was apparently an exercise in futility. "Swan, the Dwarf's shop isn't going to be open for at least another two and a half hours."

Emma whimpered softly at the time table, and Killian instantly made up his mind. "I'll be right over." Then he ended the call before she could protest.

He shrugged on his jacket, left his room, and locked the door behind him. _Apologies, Granny_, he thought as he stepped outside. _Our usual back-and-forth over breakfast will have to wait_.

The walk to Swan's apartment was a swift one. When he knocked on the door, he heard a soft groan on the other side. Swan's, by the sound of it. After a long moment, she pulled the door open.

Killian swallowed a gasp. Her face was pale except for a splash of pink on her cheeks. She had such dark circles under her eyes that it appeared as if she'd been in a tavern brawl. Her eyes were glazed and she was leaning against the doorjamb for support. "You look like death warmed over, love," he said sympathetically.

A weary smirk tugged at her lips. "Wow, Killian, thanks. Did that line serve you well over … how many centuries?"

He smiled and, after stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind them, walked her back to the sofa, his arm around her shoulders. Before she had the chance to even attempt to sit down, her baby brother began to cry. "I'll get him," Killian whispered but Emma stubbornly shook her head. She headed to her parents' room and he was left with no choice but to follow after her.

The curtain was drawn and Killian stopped short of the doorway, not wanting to intrude. "He's hungry," he heard the princess whisper to her daughter. "I've got him. Go back to bed."

The two of them compared symptoms for a moment: both had the headache, the stuffy nose, the fatigue, and the body aches. "This is going to suck, isn't it?" Swan asked once the litany of symptoms were listed.

"Indeed it is," the princess agreed.

"Killian's here," Swan informed her mother. "Henry said we're going to need help but I'm trying to get him to go to Regina's at least until we're done being contagious."

"Okay." There was a certain wisdom in the princess's tone, one Killian thought Swan was probably too muddled to catch. Emma's asking him here wasn't just about Henry; on some level, she _wanted_ him here. "Thank him for us."

Emma ducked through the curtain and smiled wearily at Killian. "My mom says thank you."

He smiled as well. "You're all quite welcome. And now, love, let's get you back to bed."

The best place for her was of course her own bed in her room. She'd be able to stretch out comfortably and snuggle under her covers at least. Unfortunately, her room was at the top of that steep metal staircase, and Killian doubted she had the energy to ascend it.

The couch it had to be, then.

As he helped her sit, he felt heat radiating from her. With a frown, he placed the back of his hand against her forehead and sure enough, her skin was hot to the touch. That tinge of pink in her cheeks … she had a fever. Not a high one, from the feel of it, but definitely a fever. "I'll be right back," he said.

She nodded, then winced and brushed a hand across her forehead.

Killian slipped into the bathroom and opened cabinet after cabinet until he found the washcloths. He ran the cloth under cool water, wrung it out, and carried it back to the living room. Emma was still seated on the couch, her eyes closed, her head resting on her hand and her elbow propped up on the arm of the sofa.

Why she hadn't just lain down was beyond him.

"Lie down, Swan," he whispered to her.

She grunted but did as he suggested. Hiding a smirk, Killian spread the blanket over her and decided to try for a joke. "I didn't expect my second time putting you to bed to go like this."

A smile stretched across her lips. "Shut up, pirate."

He grinned; at least his Swan was still in there somewhere underneath the illness. Once she got settled and closed her eyes, he gingerly set the cloth on her forehead. Her eyelids snapped open due to the temperature shock. "Shh, it's all right."

"Will you stay?" she mumbled, her voice weak and weary.

Killian highly doubted she had any idea she'd actually said that aloud. Those three little words provided a glimpse of that abandoned little girl who still resided somewhere deep inside her, that abandoned little girl who was afraid of people leaving. If she were well, she never would have let something like that slip, but now that he had, he needed to reassure her. "Of course." And to prove the point, he sat down at the other end of the sofa, placing her feet in his lap. "Just sleep."

"Mm-kay." Her eyes fluttered closed and within seconds, she was asleep.

"Someday, Swan,"Killian murmured to her once her breathing evened out, "you'll understand that being here with you is worth more than all the doubloons and treasure and ships in the realms."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** To the reviewers who've said they're glad I'm balancing both the Charming Family and Captain Swan aspects of this: thank you! When I write these things, I try to keep them balanced and I try to make sure that I'm not - intentionally or not - favoring one relationship over another because as far as I'm concerned, they're *all* important. Hope you all enjoy the next part!

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><p>After Emma disappeared through the curtain to hopefully go back to bed, Snow carried her sick and hungry little prince over to her own bed. "I know, baby," she murmured, hoping her voice would let him know that sustenance and comfort were on their way.<p>

"Is he all right?" a sleepy Charming mumbled into his pillow.

"He's fine," Snow assured him as settled in to nurse. "He's just hungry." Which, as far as Snow was concerned, was a wonderful sign. Between the congestion and the general malaise that came from being sick, poor little Neal hadn't had much of an appetite the past couple of days.

"Good." Her husband was silent a moment before blinking his eyes open and propping himself up on one elbow. "Did I hear Emma correctly? Hook's here?"

"She called him," Snow confirmed. She settled Neal comfortably in her arms and made sure he latched on before continuing. "She said she asked him here so Henry doesn't have to stay to help."

"You don't think that's true?"

"I'm sure that's part of it, of course, but _only_ part of it."

Comprehension flooded her husband's features. "You think she asked him here because she wanted him here."

Snow nodded. "You saw how she was clinging to him the night she was trapped in the ice cave." A sliver of fear gripped Snow's heart at the mere remembrance of that night. "She most definitely wants him here. I just don't know if she fully understands that."

Charming nodded, hiding a little smile at their daughter's capacity for denial. "How's she feeling? She's at least admitted she's sick, right?"

"Oh, she's admitted she's sick," Snow replied, giving her husband a sardonic smirk. "She just won't admit that she feels as miserable as we do."

Charming let out a chuckle that turned into a muffled sneeze. He leaned forward to check on his little prince. "How's he doing?"

"A little better, I think. He's nursing better this morning than he has been the past couple of days, and he doesn't sound as congested."

A smile of relief brightened Charming's weary face at the news that their son's condition seemed to be on the mend. "And how about you?"

Snow felt a little better this morning compared to last night, though her head was still cotton-y and her body still ached. She imagined it was a combination of both the sleep and the medicine their daughter and grandson had forced down their throats that was making her feel slightly more human, and she told Charming as much. "How about you?"

"The same," he replied, though clearly his internal clock was out of sync. He very rarely had to check the time – shepherds learned to tell time by the angle of the sun in the sky, he'd told her more than once – but he peeked over her shoulder to check her bedside clock. His eyes registered surprise; it was round about the time Neal would have woken them up on a normal, non-sick day. "Did you hear him at all last night?"

"No, not after Emma sent us to bed." Snow looked down at her little prince, who was drinking as if he'd never been fed before. Which was, once again, a _very_ good sign. "She must have kept him the whole night for us, stubborn girl."

A smile tugged at Charming's lips. "Stubborn though she may be, our daughter is wonderful."

"That she is."

For a while, Snow and Charming sat quietly in the stillness of the early morning. Snow switched little Neal to her other side and Charming lay with his eyes closed, listening to his son's little noises and Snow's quiet humming, which turned to soft singing since her nasal congestion made humming a bit uncomfortable.

Eventually, Neal began to slow down. Snow looked down at him and noted with amusement that his eyelids were starting to flutter. "There we go, little prince," she murmured. Though his illness seemed to be on the wane, it clearly was still doing a number on his little body; he usually was able to last a few minutes post-meal before falling into a milk coma.

It didn't take long at all for her poor sick baby to fall fast asleep. She sat up straight, spurring Charming into action. He took Neal from her to settle in his crib while she got herself situated. "Where are you going?" he asked when she climbed out of bed.

"To check on our other baby," she replied. Charming smiled at her.

After a quick peek in on Neal in his crib, Snow shuffled out of the bedroom. A soft whimper escaped her lips at the thought of climbing the stairs to the loft but then she caught sight of Hook seated on the sofa. And next to him, to her surprise, lay Emma, sound asleep on her side with one hand tucked under the pillow, her other arm dangling over the edge of the couch, and her feet resting in Hook's lap.

She also had a compress settled on her temple and draped across her forehead, which sent Snow's heart to her throat. If Emma had a fever, maybe this wasn't just a cold. Maybe it had morphed into the flu.

Though she tried to be quiet, her approach startled Hook, whose watchful gaze had been focused on Emma. "Good morning, milady," he whispered to her, giving her a reverent nod.

"Good morning," she whispered back as she attempted to crouch down beside the sofa. Her achy muscles protested painfully; apparently sitting on the coffee table was as good as it was going to get this morning.

Her poor non-sitting furniture had gotten quite the workout over the last couple of days. As soon as everyone was well, the moratorium on sitting on the coffee table was going back into effect.

Sighing softly, she lightly brushed her fingers over her daughter's cheek. Her skin did indeed feel hot under her fingertips but it was thankfully nowhere near the fiery feel of the fever Emma had when she was sick with pneumonia.

"It's not at all a high fever," Hook assured her. "She'll be all right with the compress and the rest."

Snow let out a breath of relief. A low-grade fever wasn't abnormal with a cold.

Rationally, she knew Emma would be perfectly fine, low-grade fever and all. The emotional side of her, however, couldn't seem to forget that the last time she'd seen Emma like this, they'd had to take her to the hospital. Of course, Hook didn't know that – at least Snow didn't think he did – so she nodded to let him know she understood. "I'll get a bowl so we can refresh the compress for her."

Because one thing was certain: Emma's fever was not going to have a chance to spike, not on Snow's watch.

The pirate, however, shook his head. "Allow me, milady. Tasks such as this are, after all, why she asked me to come."

Snow smiled a thank you to him as he carefully shifted Emma's feet off his lap and stood. While he poked through the cabinets for a large bowl to fill at the sink, Snow took stock of her daughter's condition. Emma seemed to be breathing well enough, which was another relief; her breathing had been labored when she'd had pneumonia. The darkness under her eyes indicated sinus congestion, which Snow knew they all had to watch carefully. The last thing she or Emma or Charming needed was to develop a sinus infection.

Charming emerged from the bedroom then, having changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. He and Hook greeted each other and then he joined his wife at their daughter's side. "How's she doing?"

Snow could see a hint of fear swimming in his eyes. Undoubtedly he was also remembering Emma's bout with pneumonia. "She has a low-grade fever, from the feel of it," Snow assured him. "She just fell asleep so I'll wait until she wakes up to give her the thermometer. I also want to keep an eye on her congestion but aside from that, she seems all right."

He nodded, the tension in his shoulders relaxing at the news that Emma was okay, for the most part. When he performed his own touch test to check for her fever, Emma moaned softly and turned her head into his touch. Charming smiled, and Snow grasped his free hand.

The two of them sat for a moment, watching over their sleeping daughter. Then Charming leaned over to Snow and whispered, "Are you hungry?"

"Starved," Snow replied, which was the truth. Unfortunately, her cold was going to ensure that nothing she ate over the next couple of days tasted right.

"Do you think she'll wake if I start cooking?"

Snow smiled. "No, I think she'll be out for a little while. I wouldn't cook anything that has too strong an aroma, though … just in case."

"So, no bacon," Charming replied, smirking.

"Precisely."

Though Snow could tell Charming really wasn't up to cooking, he headed into the kitchen to get breakfast going. Everyone was going to need to eat to keep their strength up, no matter how awful they felt and no matter how little of the food they'd be able to taste, and Snow's wonderful husband was taking it upon himself to make sure their bodies had plenty of fuel.

Only when Charming stepped away did Hook approach with the bowl. When he set it on the coffee table, Snow smiled a thank you in equal parts for taking such good care of Emma and allowing her and Charming to have a moment alone with her.

As Snow reached for the compress on Emma's forehead, Hook sat back down at the end of the sofa and once again settled Emma's feet in his lap. They were both taking care of Emma in their own way, Hook sitting patiently with her while Snow comforted her.

Snow dipped the cloth into the bowl, wrung out the excess cool water, and placed the compress back on her baby girl's forehead. Emma's nose scrunched and her eyes fluttered open as she let out a groggy, "Mom?"

"It's all right, sweetheart," Snow murmured. "Go back to sleep."

Emma gave her a bleary smile as her eyes drifted closed. Smiling softly, Snow wrapped her hand around the one Emma had dangling over the edge of the couch. Emma's fingers twitched, unconsciously acknowledging the comfort, and Snow smiled, joy and warmth filling her heart.

"I apologize if I'm intruding," Hook said when Snow released Emma's hand. "She asked me here to help, so I will do what I can when I'm needed."

"You're not intruding," Snow assured him. Something resembling relief flashed into the pirate's eyes, and Snow found herself continuing. "And she didn't ask you here solely to help. She asked you here because she wants you to be here. This is just her way of not making it obvious."

A touched smile tugged at the pirate's lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." With one final glance at her sleeping daughter, she stood.

"Do you want to sit?" he asked her.

"No, you can stay with her," Snow smiled. She wanted to get in at least a little bit of activity while she felt well enough to do so. Not that setting the table was a whole lot of activity but that wasn't the point. As of right now, her body didn't ache all that much and she felt awake, and she wanted to take advantage of it.

As Snow got the plates down from the cabinets, she peeked over at the stove. Charming had chosen to make omelets in the wake of the bacon moratorium, which was simultaneously wonderful and disappointing. Wonderful because Charming made absolutely amazing omelets and disappointing because Snow wouldn't be able to taste hers properly. "Are you doing all right?" she asked Charming.

"Yes, though I don't doubt that it's going to hit me later."

That was certainly the truth. As soon their activity caught up with them, it was going to hit them hard.

To Snow's surprise, Henry padded down the stairs then, rubbing his eyes and his hair sticking up in odd places. It was a bit early for the boy to be getting up but then again, he'd fallen asleep early the night before. "G'morning," he mumbled. "Are you guys feeling better?"

Snow and Charming exchanged an amused glance. "We are for now," Charming answered. "We're trying to take it one step at a time."

The still sleepy boy nodded and took the plates from Snow's hands. It was only as he was setting the plates out that he noticed she'd counted out one too many. Blinking confusedly, he searched the room until he found the reason for the extra plate. "Morning, Killian."

"Good morning, lad," the pirate said, softly so as not to wake Emma.

As Henry turned to grab the glasses, he gave his grandparents an amused smile. "Full house this morning, huh?"

They both chuckled. "Yes indeed," Snow said.

Maybe their house was a little full at the moment and maybe the majority of the people in it felt like they'd been run over by a truck, but it was home.


	7. Chapter 7

Soft morning sunlight filtering underneath the window shade played across Emma's face, hitting her eyes at just the right angle to slowly draw her from sleep. For a long moment, she drifted in that hazy realm between asleep and awake. She could hear quiet voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. They sounded familiar and comforting, though, and she let them soothe her back into a light doze.

The voices suddenly gave way to baby whimpers, which startled Emma awake. She heard someone murmur, "I'll get him" and only then did the sleepiness fade enough for Emma to become aware of her pounding headache.

Suddenly uncomfortable, she turned onto her back. Her aching muscles screamed at the effort. A tiny whimper escaped her lips before she had the presence of mind to stop it, and all of a sudden, she felt movement by her feet.

No, not _by_ her feet. _Under_ her feet.

Emma dragged her eyes open and met the eyes of a part-concerned, part-sheepish Killian Jones. "Apologies, love," he murmured. "I was trying to shift so you'd be more comfortable."

Only then did she notice that her feet were resting in his lap. How in the hell had _this_ happened?

Oh, wait. Now she remembered. It was vague but she remembered. "You stayed."

She winced. She sounded terrible to her own ears, her voice nasal and raspy. She must have sounded just as terrible to Killian because he winced, too. He covered quickly, though, giving her a kind smile. "I told you I would."

He had, hadn't he? She just barely remembered asking him to stay and just barely remembered his response, but he'd certainly kept his promise.

Their voices must have caught her father's attention because he suddenly appeared in her peripheral vision. Emma sat up then, removing her feet from Killian's lap. Killian moved with her as if making sure she wasn't going to topple over or something.

"How're you feeling, kiddo?" David asked as he perched on the coffee table.

Emma hid a smirk. That poor coffee table. Her mother was going to flip her lid. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

He easily shot down her attempt at deflection. "Nope. I'm the dad, you're the daughter. How are you feeling?"

She frowned. Okay, apparently she wasn't getting out of this one. "Like my brain is all of a sudden too big for my skull," she answered honestly, if only because coming up with a half-truth required more energy than she had. "And I'm sore all over, but aside from that, perfectly fine."

David smirked at her as he gently pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. Then, as quickly as his hand had come, it was gone. Frowning in disapproval at his daughter's temperature, he turned over his shoulder to address his grandson, who was washing dishes at the kitchen sink. "Henry, will you get me the thermometer, please?"

Before Emma could even begin to wonder why the hell Henry was still there – hadn't she told him to call Regina when it was light out? – Snow said, "I've got it."

Emma blinked in the direction of the voice just in time to see her mother, carrying a fussy Neal, duck into the bathroom. She emerged from the door closest to the sofa, digital thermometer in hand. "Take your temperature," she said, holding the device in front of her daughter's face.

Maybe it was just the cold talking, but this morning was moving far too quickly for Emma. Why was Henry still here? Were her parents feeling at all better? What about her brother? What the hell _time_ was it?

When she voiced that last question aloud, Snow said, "Almost eight."

Emma's eyes widened. Almost eight?! She'd gone to bed like, eleven hours ago! Of course, her sleep had been all kinds of disrupted, but last she knew, it had been a little after six. No wonder Emma's stomach was growling.

Had Killian sat with her the whole time? Had he eaten breakfast? Had _any_ of them eaten breakfast?

"Emma," Snow said, her voice a miraculous mixture of gentle and stern. "Temperature."

With her sickness-induced confusion beginning to aggravate her, Emma scowled but did as she was instructed. She turned the thermometer on and stuck the tip under her tongue. Killian clearly didn't understand how the plastic stick now residing in Emma's mouth was supposed to tell them any kind of useful information because he was watching the proceedings as if everyone had sprouted an extra couple of heads.

Henry finished putting the dishes away – breakfast dishes, hopefully, and Emma was so very looking forward to getting some breakfast of her own – and joined everyone in the living room. Emma arched an eyebrow at him. "Why the hell are you still here?" she asked around the thermometer.

"Mouth closed, Emma," Snow instructed.

Emma rolled her eyes. And as for Henry, the kid simply arched an eyebrow right back at her as if to say, "You really thought I was going to listen to you?"

Oh, she was going to have to give him quite the little talking-to. When the thermometer beeped and she could actually speak without getting spoken to herself, of course.

And beep the thermometer eventually did, signaling the end of Emma's enforced quiet time. First things first, however; she needed to see the damage with her own eyes. Luckily her mother's own cold was making a touch slow to react so Emma was able to take the device out of her mouth before Snow could.

Her shoulders slumped when she saw the reading. "100.5," she sighed, handing the thermometer to her mother.

"Low-grade, just like we thought," Snow said, nodding at the confirmation. She turned the device off and set it on the end table. "We'll keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn't spike."

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Killian pick up the thermometer and stare at it in wonder. "It's a thermometer," Emma explained, hiding an amused smirk. "It measures temperature. It also has my germs all over it now so put it the hell down and go wash your hand."

Killian smiled sheepishly at her. "I'll be right back, love."

Emma again rolled her eyes but this time, she was smiling. And now that her temperature was taken and Killian was taking the steps not to come down with this nightmare of a cold, Emma could focus on her headstrong kid. "I thought I told you to call Regina."

Henry crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought I told you I wasn't leaving."

"Henry–"

"I'm not leaving."

If her parents got this annoyed when she argued with them, she was sorry for having put them through it. Any other day she would have gladly argued back with him but she was hungry and her head hurt and she was so achy and sore and _tired_ that she shot a helpless look at her parents_._

"Henry, it's best if you stay with Regina for a couple of days," Snow began.

Little Neal sneezed and started to whimper, drawing Snow's attention from the matter at hand. David easily took over for his wife. "We're all contagious, Henry. Just because you haven't come down with yet doesn't mean you won't. You really shouldn't be around us until we've stopped being contagious."

"Killian's going to need help, though," the kid insisted. "He's not going to be able to look after three adults and a baby by himself. Mom, you already bought Lysol and hand sanitizer and if it makes you feel better, I can go get us some masks. We won't get sick, too."

"I don't know why you keep insisting we're going to need all this help," Emma grumbled as she slumped against the back of the sofa. Sitting up straight had become too exhausting. "It's a cold, not the plague."

"Exactly!" Henry cried. "It's a cold, not the plague! You guys don't need to be _quarantined_. I should be allowed to stay."

Okay, it was so not at all fair that he was using her own words against her. "Kid–"

"Emma," David said softly, causing her to meet her father's gaze. "If he wants to stay, let him stay."

What? No, she was not letting him stay.

And then she spotted the wisdom in her father's eyes, and she understood. For Henry, this wasn't simply about being stubborn. All the poor kid wanted to do was be a knight in shining armor, even if his knightly tasks were as mundane as getting the thermometer from the bathroom and washing the breakfast dishes.

Emma didn't like the idea of allowing him to stay and she had half a mind to keep Regina on standby in case things got worse but … how could she deny her kid the chance to be a little preteen hero? "Fine," she relented. The kid's eyes lit up in gratitude but Emma wasn't done. "There is a condition: you don't handle the squirt. The three of us are old enough to know to cover our mouths and wash our hands. He's not."

"Deal," Henry smiled. "I'll go run to the store now to get the masks and another box of cold medicine. I already disinfected our room and Killian and I can clean down here when I get back. The cold won't spread to us, I promise."

Killian had returned from washing his hand just in time to hear Emma agree to let Henry stay. "Like I said this morning, love," he said softly, "we'll be careful."

Emma nodded, though she still wasn't sure about this at all. Still, her parents smiled at her and Killian bent down to kiss her cheek. "I'll accompany the lad to the Dwarf's shop, unless you would like me to stay here."

As much as she wanted to tell him to stay so she could cuddle up with him – which, where the hell was _that_ coming from? – she wanted someone to go with Henry more. Storybrooke had been peaceful for a few days but it was still Storybrooke, and one never knew. "No, go with him."

"Aye, love." He let his hand linger on her shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly. Emma closed her eyes, the silent comfort making her wish he could just stay with her forever. "Perhaps then I will understand how a mask is to prevent illness. I've seen them used to disguise, of course, but never for that purpose."

And all of a sudden, Emma understood why he'd been arguing with her about the mask on the phone this morning. She opened her eyes and blinked up at her pirate. "You think I'm talking about the thing people wear to like, masquerade balls?"

Confusion clouded Killian's face. "Are you not?"

David and Snow bit their lower lips to hide their smiles. Henry snorted in amusement, his hand slapping over his mouth a touch too late to muffle it. "I'm not," Emma replied, just barely resisting a smirk of her own. "I'm talking about the thing that doctors wear at the hospital."

A blush colored the pirate's cheeks. "I see. That explains that, then." An amused Emma shook her aching head at her pirate.

After Henry and Killian walked out the door, promising to be quick, Emma turned her to parents. "Mom? Dad? I'm hungry."

Snow and David shared a chuckle. Both of their children had woken up with appetites, which was a very good sign, indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma listlessly poked at her bacon and cheese omelet. It was more than likely delicious because her dad made the best bacon and cheese omelets in the history of bacon and cheese omelets but she didn't know for sure because she couldn't taste the damn thing.

Well, she could sorta kinda taste it. Mostly she tasted the blue cheese crumbles and the salty deliciousness of the bacon. Everything else just tasted like … nothing.

It sucked. Colds sucked, and she hated them more than she'd ever hated anything in her life. (All right, that _may_ have been a bit of hyperbole, but still.)

"Is everything all right?" Snow asked, bouncing a cranky Neal in her arms as she watched Emma pushed what remained of her omelet around her plate.

"Yeah," Emma sighed. "I just wish my taste buds worked properly."

"I hear that one." Snow eased down in the chair across from Emma, her own aching body weary of standing. "I couldn't taste my breakfast, either."

"Being sick sucks," Emma grumbled, slicing off another bite of omelet and popping it into her mouth as if in defiance.

Over her head, Snow and David exchanged an amused glance. Their daughter was an absolutely horrible patient, as they'd come to discover during both her previous cold and her later bout with pneumonia. She had no real patience for being sick and thus became annoyed and irritable, which they had to admit was simultaneously somewhat maddening and rather funny.

Apparently, the Princess of Crankiness had once again decided to grace them with her presence.

With only about a quarter of it left to go, Emma gave up on the omelet . She set her fork down, admitting defeat, and wrapped her hands around the edges of the plate to clear her place. As fast as his own cold would allow, David swooped in and slipped the dish out of her hands.

Part of her was annoyed because holy crap, she was not an invalid and she could certainly carry her own damn plate to the sink. A larger part of her was infinitely grateful that she didn't have to expend the energy to get up, walk over to the sink, and walk back. She smiled a thank you up at her father, who smiled back while placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing.

It was such a dad comforting his little girl move that tears pricked Emma's eyes.

_Get a freaking grip_, she commanded herself, blinking rapidly and sniffling. Snow bit back a knowing smirk and Emma rolled her eyes. Being sick was totally screwing with her emotions, and she didn't like it one bit.

When David joined Emma and Snow at the table, Emma asked, "How are you guys feeling?"

Her parents exchanged a glance, one of those shared looks during which they spoke a hundred words without saying anything at all. "We're hanging in there," David said. "How about you?"

"The same," Emma shrugged, though some small, young part of her wished she could melt into her parents' embrace and let them comfort her like they should have been able her entire life.

Again her parents exchanged a glance, one that was loving and longing and made Emma's heart leap in her chest. Apparently they wished they could comfort her, too.

A sudden sneeze escaped Snow's lips. She managed to muffle it but not quite in time not to startle little Neal out of an almost-sleep, which led to cranky baby wails. "I'm so sorry, baby," Snow murmured, sudden tears welling in her eyes as she bounced him.

Once again Emma could see the effects of their shared illness on her mother, the exhaustion and cold-induced desperation fueling her overblown guilt at inadvertently causing her sick baby to cry. The bouncing didn't calm him and when Snow's tears spilled over, Emma pushed herself up from her chair and stepped behind her mother's. Bending down and reaching over Snow's shoulder, Emma ran her forefinger down her baby brother's forehead. "Shh," she whispered.

Two swipes down the forehead later, the squirt was calm. Snow and David exchanged a look of wonder and bewilderment. The magic touch only worked that swiftly for Emma. They both used it, of course, and it did work but for some reason, it took the two of them longer to achieve the same effect. No one had the slightest idea why, least of all Emma.

"Thank you," Snow murmured, smiling up at her daughter.

"You're welcome," Emma said, smiling back.

Neal's eyes suddenly fixed on his big sister. Smiling, David said, "Looks like someone wants some sister time."

A glance over at her mother proved that Snow was more than willing to give her babies a little sibling time. Smiling herself, Snow held Neal out to her daughter so she could take the baby from her. Emma settled her baby brother in her arms, looking down at his big teary eyes. "Hey, squirt," she murmured.

He grasped her finger and held on tight. Emma smiled, her heart warming as she ran the pad of her thumb over his tiny fingers. How one little person could fill her with so much love and such a deep sense of protection was something she would never understand. No villain or monster – human or otherwise – was going to hurt her baby brother, not if she had anything to say about it.

With her gaze holding her brother's, she was completely oblivious to the loving smile her parents shared at the simple sight of their two babies being together.

After a minute or so, standing became too much for Emma's sick body so she carried Neal over to the couch. Her parents followed, eager to be out of the uncomfortable kitchen chairs and to let the soft couch cushions envelop their aching muscles. Much like the night before, the three of them on that little couch was a tight squeeze but there they stayed.

And somewhere inside Emma, the little girl who'd never been able to cuddle up with her parents when she was sick was jumping for joy.

Eventually they heard the telltale sound of Henry turning his key in the deadbolt. The guys were back from the pharmacy run … and apparently Henry was taking his promise to his mother very seriously. He was already wearing his surgical mask and was cajoling Killian to put on his.

The pirate eventually put the mask on, his annoyance with the entire exercise evident in his eyes. "Must I wear this infernal contraption, Swan?" he asked as he set the bag from the pharmacy – which looked awfully bulky for a couple of masks and some cold pills – on the kitchen table. "I feel ridiculous."

"You look ridiculous," Emma snickered by way of a response.

He shot her a look.

"You have to wear it," she insisted. "I don't want you getting sick, too."

He muttered something under his breath that Emma didn't quite catch; something about masquerade masks not making him look or feel anywhere near as ridiculous. Emma swallowed a chuckle.

Across the room, Henry dug into the bag and pulled out a small cardboard box. "Look what Sneezy had, Gramma!" he said as he stepped over to the couch and handed Snow the item. A peek over her shoulder revealed a package of little plastic sleeves that fit over the tip of the thermometer like the ones at doctor's offices. "Now you guys can take your temperatures without sharing each other's germs!"

It was such a thoughtful purchase that Emma didn't have the heart to remind him that they'd already shared each other's germs, which was why they were all sick.

"Good thinking, kid," David said, smiling at his grandson.

Henry beamed, then picked up the thermometer from where Killian had left it on the end table. "I'm going to disinfect this and then I want all of you to take your temperatures."

"I just took mine," Emma reminded him.

"Don't care. You're taking it again."

Emma sighed, her eyes flicking to Killian for help. He arched an eyebrow at her and remained silent, mostly because he believed Henry had the right idea but partly as retribution for making him wear the mask.

God, they were both worse than her parents! "Who the hell put the kid in charge?" Emma grumbled as soon as Henry was out of earshot.

Everyone shared a chuckle at that, Snow and David meeting each other's gaze over Emma's head. Clearly the Princess of Crankiness had yet to leave the building.

Killian picked up the blanket that Emma had kicked to the floor when she'd gotten up and handed it to David, who spread it out across the three of them. Just as they got settled, Henry returned with a clean thermometer already in a plastic sleeve. "You first, Gramma."

Clearly humoring her grandson, Snow took the thermometer from him and stuck it in her mouth. While they were waiting for the result, Henry crossed the room and withdrew a box of latex gloves from the bag.

So _that_ was why it was so bulky. While Emma admired the kid's foresight and initiative, that was also the last time she was going to send him shopping with Killian because clearly the pirate had just allowed him to buy whatever he wanted – or, more than likely, whatever he said they absolutely one hundred percent needed.

She arched an eyebrow at Killian. He shrugged at her, wrinkling his brow in slight confusion as if he didn't understand why she was questioning the purchases. Yep, door number two it was.

The thermometer beeped, and Snow removed it from her mouth. Her reasonably good humor faded, however, when she looked down at the display. Emma peeked over her shoulder to see what was wrong, and sure enough, her mom had a low-grade fever, too. "100.3," she frowned. "I don't feel like I have a fever."

Emma knew how she felt. She didn't feel like she had a fever, either.

"That's barely a fever," David assured her as she turned off the device. "Another dose of cold medicine will knock it right back down to where it should be."

"Hey, wait a second," Emma interjected, frowning at her father. "Mine's only two-tenths of a degree higher than hers. How come hers is 'barely a fever' but mine needs to be watched?"

"Because yours is that much closer to a hundred and one," David replied, a teasing grin on his lips.

Emma huffed. Snow, Henry, and Killian swallowed chuckles.

Wearing a pair of his new gloves, which David had better make good use of while working on the truck in the future, Henry slipped the thermometer from Snow's hand and stripped off the sleeve. He slid a new one on and handed the device to David. "Your turn, Grandpa."

With the same amount of humoring as Snow but also a tiny bit of hesitation, David took the thermometer and stuck the tip under his tongue. It seemed as if everyone was waiting on his result, and when they finally got it, they were in for a second surprise. "A hundred even," Emma read aloud over her father's shoulder.

"Two doses of cold medicine, then," Snow said, smiling gently at her husband. "One for me and one for me."

Henry slipped the third sleeve on the thermometer and handed it to Emma. Even though she felt it was ridiculous to take her temperature so soon after already taking it once, she popped it into her mouth without an argument. They already knew she had a fever; what the hell else was a second reading going to tell them?

Apparently it could tell them a lot. When the thermometer beeped, she, too, was unpleasantly surprised by the reading. "It's gone up to 101.1," Snow murmured, frowning.

Henry and Killian exchanged a troubled glance as Snow and David shared a similar look over Emma's head.

"I … I just ate," Emma reminded her.

"That omelet had gone cold long before you finished poking at it," David said gently. "I don't think we can blame this on hot food."

All right, seriously, what the hell?

"So … three doses of cold medicine?" Henry asked.

"Yes, please," Snow said, unable to resist the urge to press her palm against her grown-up baby's forehead.

As Henry ducked into the bathroom to retrieve the cold pills – someone had put them away while Emma was sleeping – and Killian stepped into the kitchen to pour three glasses of water at the sink, David gently slipped Neal from his sister's arms. Emma let him take him; if her temperature was rising, she didn't want to risk reinfecting the poor kid.

Although her temperature was not at all fear-worthy, Emma could see the trepidation swimming in her parents' eyes. Figuring they were probably remembering how sick she was when she had pneumonia, she insisted, "Guys, I'm fine."

David and Snow both forced smiles for her benefit. "Of course, sweetheart," Snow said, sweeping a lock of hair out of her daughter's eyes.

Emma sighed. Her parents, who were sick themselves and worried about their sick infant son, were now worried about her. Well, even more worried about her than they were before. And now so were her kid and her pirate. Great, just great.

This totally sucked.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Y'all are still awesome. Thanks for the lovely words of encouragement!

* * *

><p>It took all of three minutes of everyone casting concerned glances at Emma – and Snow doing a skin-to-skin temperature check twice in those three minutes – for Emma to decide that they needed to come up with some kind of activity. Henry had already adjusted the blanket over their legs once and Killian seemed torn before wanting to sit with or near Emma and not wanting to overwhelm her. Snow and David had inched closer to her, as if trying to cure her illness simply by their proximity. And while she understood their concern – really, she did – it was getting to be more than enough.<p>

She was not going to sit here and feel miserable and have everyone hovering over her, too.

The only problem with that was, of course, the feeling miserable part. Her head was pounding, which got worse when she moved, and she didn't have the energy to _do _anything, which meant neither did her parents.

It was officially time to enact a sick day tradition. "Hey, kid," Emma said to Henry, who was seated in front of her on the floor. Henry looked up at her, eyes bright and eager. The poor kid wanted so desperately to help. "Will you do me a favor?"

After taking a moment to think, he smirked at her. "You want me to get it, don't you?"

She nodded. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he replied. With a comforting smile, he pushed himself off the floor and headed up to the loft.

Snow, David, and Killian shared a bewildered glance. "Do you want to share with the rest of the class?" Snow asked when it became apparent that Emma was not going to offer an explanation on her own.

Emma raised her eyebrows at her mother. "Sometimes I forget you taught fourth grade for twenty-eight years, and then you'll say things like that and it's like I'm right back in fourth grade myself."

A sheepish blush colored Snow's cheeks. "The question still stands."

"Wait," David said, sudden comprehension on his features. "Let me guess: _Back to the Future_?"

Emma was touched; he remembered. They'd watched _Back to the Future_ when she had pneumonia, once in the hospital and again the day she was released. Well, her family had watched it. Emma had been so sick that she'd slept through it both times.

And on some unconscious level that the darkest magic couldn't touch, Emma and Henry had remembered it as well. In New York, _Back to the Future_ was their go-to sick day movie, no matter which of them was under the weather.

"Yeah," she nodded, answering her father's question. "If you guys don't mind watching it again, that is."

"Of course not," Snow smiled. David smiled as well, his thumb running along a fussy Neal's little cheek.

Emma smiled at her parents before flicking her gaze to Killian. "You especially need to see this. You're going to get a kick out of it."

"Why me especially, love?" he asked, a gentle smile on his lips at the amusement in her eyes.

The knowing sparkle in his own eyes, however, told her that he'd figured out the answer to that question simply from the title.

"You'll see," was all she said.

Henry came bounding back downstairs then with the DVD in his hand. He set the movie on the coffee table and addressed his mother. "I've decided that if we're watching a movie, I want popcorn."

"I can make it," Emma said. She started to stand despite everyone's protests. Like, seriously, she had a cold. She could certainly make a batch or two of popcorn. Her dad had made everyone breakfast, for crying out loud!

"Allow me to make it, Swan," Killian said, capturing her attention by placing his hand on her shoulder.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You know how to make popcorn?"

His confidence faltered just a little bit. Clearly he'd been simply trying to sit back down without taking into consideration what the task at hand entailed. Then he covered, squaring his shoulders and grinning at her. "Perhaps with the lad's assistance."

Emma sighed. Yeah, two amateurs cooking with hot oil on the stovetop. That was exactly what everyone needed right now.

"Mom, you can't taste anything," Henry reminded her. "If you try to make it, we'll all be eating a bunch of ranch powder with some popcorn in it. Let us do it, please?"

Emma looked back at her parents, who shrugged at her. Although they understood her concern, they clearly believed Henry had a point. Plus they wanted her to sit back down and take it easy.

Not that she would admit it to anyone but it was her pounding headache that made her relent. "Fine," she sighed. "Just don't burn the kitchen down."

And off her kid and pirate went to go make the popcorn. Henry pulled a pot out of the drawer under the stove while Killian grabbed the oil from the cabinet. It was only when Henry, in his exuberance, snatched the bottle of oil from Killian's hand just as he was about to drizzle it into the pot and caused a small spill on the burner that Emma sighed. "They're so totally going to burn the kitchen down."

David, stovetop popcorn maker extraordinaire, smiled as he passed the squirt over to his wife. "I'll supervise and make sure there are no flames whatosever."

Emma smiled a thank you at her father as he pushed himself off the couch. As he crossed the room to chaperone the two popcorn amateurs, Emma slid over on the couch to give her mother and brother a little more room. Once Snow was sure that Neal was settled – sucking on his little thumb, which was one of the most adorable things Emma had ever seen – she turned to Emma, again reaching her hand up to cup Emma's cheek and feel for her fever. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine," she insisted.

Snow gave her a look that plainly said to cut the crap. Emma sighed. "My head is killing me."

A frown tugged at the corners of Snow's mouth as her brow wrinkled in concern. She moved her hand to her daughter's forehead. Emma had no idea what she was expecting to accomplish; the heat coming off her forehead was likely the same as the heat coming off her cheeks.

And then, as Snow's fingers pressed against her forehead, Emma winced. Her mother's frown deepened. "Can you lean your head forward for a second?" she asked.

A bewildered Emma cringed at the thought. Leaning forward was going to _kill_.

"Actually, now you don't even need to," Snow said softly. "Your reaction just told me everything. I think I know why your fever's worse."

Emma finally put two and two together in her aching brain. "Sinus infection?"

"I believe so," Snow sighed.

But … Emma had just gotten sick the night before. How the hell did she end up with a sinus infection already? Unless the sinus infection had already been brewing when she'd caught the squirt's cold.

That _had_ to be it. Wonderful. _Only I could get a double-whammy_, she thought grumpily.

Snow smiled apologetically at her. "At least you're already doing what you need to do for it. We'll send the vaporizer upstairs with you when you go to bed tonight."

"But the squirt–"

"–will be perfectly fine for the night," Snow assured her. "Both my babies are sick, which means both my babies have to share."

Emma dropped her gaze to her sick little brother. She really didn't want to take the vaporizer from him. His little respiratory system needed the humidity and the steam just as much as hers did.

"Tell you what," Snow said, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's a long way to bedtime; he might start feeling better in a few hours or the decongestants might help you enough that you won't need it. And if you both need it, we'll figure something out, even if it means keeping you in our room for the time being."

Smiling softly, Emma met her mother's gaze. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Snow smiled back.

A few minutes later, the guys returned with two bowls of popcorn, one for the sick people on the couch to share and the other to ensure Killian and Henry had a germ-free snack. David reclaimed his seat on the sofa, once again sandwiching Emma between him and Snow. Part of her was embarrassed, part of her felt too miserable to call any attention to it, and the young part of her that had always wanted this secretly adored it.

Henry handed her the popcorn bowl earmarked for the cold-ridden since she was in the middle. "Thank you," she said as she took the bowl from his hand. "Now can we start the movie?"

"Yep!" Henry grabbed the movie from where he'd left it on the coffee table, freed the disc from the case, and slid it into the player. Then he and Killian made themselves comfortable on the floor, Henry at David's feet and Killian at Emma's.

No sooner had Michael J. Fox appeared on the screen than Killian turned to Emma and said, "Allow me a guess, love. That lad is Marty McFly?"

Emma smiled at him. "I told you he wasn't a wizard."

The rest of her family gave them odd looks but no one questioned it.

And when Marty inadvertently interrupted his parents' first meeting, Killian looked up at Emma with a smirk. "There is something quite familiar about this little tale."

Everyone got a good chuckle out of that.

As they returned their attention to the movie, Emma took a moment to survey the scene around her. Her pirate and kid at her feet, her parents on either side of her, her sleeping baby brother in her mother's arms. It was more than she'd ever been able to dream as a little girl, and now she had it. Now it was hers, and it wasn't going anywhere.

She smiled to herself and did something the little girl inside her had longed to do her entire life: she snuggled into her mom's side. Snow drew in a touched breath before pressing a gentle kiss on the top of Emma's head. David turned his head to see what had surprised his wife and smiled. His daughter's position giving him courage, he wrapped his arm around his sick little girl's shoulders while inching impossibly closer to her to make sure they were both comfortable. Emma closed her eyes for a long moment, content to let her parents comfort her simply with their presence. Nobody said a word, for which Emma was extremely grateful.

Eventually the body aches made sitting in the same position too uncomfortable for her. She fidgeting, trying to find a position that would ease them a bit. "Are you all right?" David asked her softly.

She nodded as she settled. "Yeah." She met her mother's eyes before returning her gaze to her father and smiling. "I am now."

Though she left the "with you guys here" part unsaid, her parents understood perfectly. David shared a touched look with Snow and smiled back at his little girl. "I'm glad."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** So, I actually had a completely different ending to this chapter written ... and then the TV Line pictures came out. They made me aww, and I rewrote the ending to reflect a little of that. Hope you like!

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><p>The moving pictures played across the screen – a remarkable piece of technology, this magic box was – to tell a story that Killian Jones and Emma Swan had essentially just lived. Killian glanced over his shoulder at Swan, intending to give her a gentle teasing to that effect, but the words died on his lips at the sight in front of him. Swan was snuggled up with her parents, her index finger clutched in her sleeping baby brother's little fist. None of them had taken their eyes off the moving picture box. Not wanting to interrupt the moment, Killian faced forward with a smile to himself.<p>

Swan deserved this. She deserved moments like this, little moments where she could be a daughter and a sister and have her parents comfort her when she felt unwell.

Only when Doc Brown and Marty McFly flew off in their time travel vessel to their next adventure – no portals needed – and Henry turned off the moving picture player did Killian once again look over his shoulder. He smiled again, this time because Swan, the prince, and the princess were all half-asleep. He kept his voice soft so as not to startle them. "I see why you said that I especially would enjoy the story, Swan."

"Told you," Swan said, giving him a bleary smile as she stretched her arms and legs. Her movement startled her parents, who blinked confusedly a time or two before coming back to the waking world.

If Swan's movement hadn't roused them, their son's fussing would have. He began to whimper in his mother's arms, leading the prince to push himself off the sofa. "That's his needs-a-changing fuss."

The princess nodded but after a glance at the clock, she stood as well. "I'll come. He's probably getting hungry, too, because he's due for a feeding."

A barely noticeable expression of disappointment flitted across Swan's face, as though she'd just registered the loss of warmth and comfort when her parents stood. No one else noticed, and Killian highly doubted Swan herself even realized it. He only noticed it because she was very much an open book to him.

His instinct was proven correct when she started to stand herself. "Are you guys okay?"

"We're fine, kiddo," David assured her. "Stay here with Henry and Hook and relax. We'll be back in a little bit."

Swan nodded and sank back into the couch cushions as she watched her parents disappear into their bedroom to take care of the young royal. Her concern for all three of them was written all over her face. As a matter of fact, Killian would bet even more of his doubloons that she wanted to follow them but simply didn't have the energy to deal with the parental admonishments that were sure to come if she did.

He met the lad's eyes. Thankfully they both were on the same page: they needed to get Swan's mind off her concern for her parents and baby brother. After all, she was also ill and it wouldn't do to have her recovery delayed or her illness made worse because of her worrying.

"Mom," the lad said softly out of deference to her obvious headache; she was squinting slightly and every time she moved her head, she would flinch. "Do you want to watch another movie?"

She started to shake her head no but caught herself. "No."

The flickering images and the loud noises of the moving picture probably weren't helping her headache any.

"What about a game, then?" the lad continued, undeterred. "Something easy … something like War. That should be easy enough. We played it when you were in the hospital, remember?"

A little smile curled on her lips, telling Killian that she did indeed remember. Killian, however, was stuck on the word "hospital." When in blazes had she been in the hospital? And why? "War may be an easy game, kid," she said, bringing Killian back to the matter at hand, "but playing cards isn't exactly the most sanitary thing we could do right now. I'm contagious, remember? The last thing we need is for me to contaminate a deck of cards."

A grin lit the lad's face as he grabbed the box of disposable gloves he'd purchased at the Dwarf's shop. "Problem solved."

Swan arched an eyebrow at her son but that little smile of hers had grown wider. The lad's logic had clearly won her over. "Yeah, all right," she said.

"Great! I'll go get the cards." Henry pushed himself off the floor, collected the empty popcorn bowls, and brought them to the sink before darting up the stairs to the loft.

For the first time since Killian had arrived, he and Swan were alone. Granted, he'd been alone with her in the morning but they'd had maybe ten minutes before he'd put her back to bed. He picked himself up off the floor and shifted to the sofa, easing down next to her. He smiled at her, gently brushing her hair out of her eyes while also surreptitiously feeling for her fever. "How are you feeling, love?"

"I'm okay," she shrugged.

It was an obvious lie but he didn't press her on it. Instead he decided to ask another more pressing question, partly to make conversation but mostly out of concern and curiosity. "When and why were you in the hospital?"

"Just after we came back from the Enchanted Forest," she replied, adjusting the blanket around her legs to throw over his. Such a casual gesture but one that Killian swore made his heart skip a beat or two. "I had pneumonia."

And right then and there, an icy fist of fear clenched his heart. Pneumonia was a particularly nasty beast, one he'd seen take many a sailor from the world. His Swan had battled pneumonia?

She placed her hand on his knee and smiled calmly at him. "Relax, sailor, it's not as bad here as it is in the other realms. My mom and dad took me to the hospital, I stayed there for a couple of days even though I hated every second of it, and then I was fine."

"Did the workers at the hospital serve you that wiggling substance masquerading as nourishment?"

She blinked at him confusedly and then smirked. "Jell-O? Yeah, they gave me Jell-O."

Of course they did. Its medicinal properties were clearly a wonder. "And what of this … sinus infection? Is it dangerous?" Infection was another silent killer, also not something to be trifled with.

"It sounds a lot worse than it is," she assured him, seemingly touched by his concern. "It's not an infection like you're thinking of. It basically means I'm overly congested. The cold pills you and Henry bought this morning should be all I need."

"If you're sure ..."

"I'm sure. It's making me feel awful but it's not dangerous."

Henry bounded back down the stairs then, his hands wrapped around a small rectangular box. He sat back down on the floor in front of the coffee table, grabbed two of the thin gloves out of the box, and handed everything to his mother. Swan put the gloves on, shuffled the cards, and dealt them out while explaining the rules of this little game for Killian's benefit.

The game sounded easy enough and after the first couple of hands, Killian understood why the lad had suggested this to play with his ill mother. There was no skill involved, as one's performance depended entirely upon the luck of the deal, and the rules were simple enough for Swan to follow even with a pounding headache.

"Is this one of the most common card games in this realm?" he asked as he watched Henry and his mother engage in a round of "war" that must have given the game its title.

"Yep," Henry replied, turning over an eight. "It's a kids' game, mostly."

Killian could understand why, the smile on Swan's face when she turned over a ten notwithstanding. That wasn't to say the game wasn't enjoyable. He had to admit to having a fair bit of fun at the moment, mostly because Swan and the lad had been teasingly trading barbs back and forth since the first hand.

"Is that all you've got?" Swan asked when Henry turned over a five.

"Want to ask me that again?" Henry asked during the next hand when he put down a six to her three.

And then Killian got in on the act when he turned over a ten. "I could ask you both."

They both grinned at him, and oh, was Killian glad to see a little bit of fire return to Swan's eyes.

Just as Swan was about to swipe the last of Killian's cards, the prince and princess emerged from their bedroom, their little prince sleeping curled up in his father's arms. David gently set the little lad down in his bassinet and joined his family at the sofa. "Whose idea was it to play War?" the princess asked.

"Take a guess," Swan said, smirking at her lad.

"When we're done, do you guys want to play?" Henry asked.

Swan tore her attention from the cards and blinked at her son. "Can we even play five-person War?"

"We've played it with four people," he shrugged. "Why not with five?"

After a moment's consideration, Swan nodded. "That's a good point." She looked up at her parents, a hopeful little smile on her lips. "So, you guys want to play?"

From the touched expressions on her parents' faces, it was clear that they wanted nothing more than to spend this time with their family. And what touched Killian most of all was that it had never been a question that he was going to be included.

He had helped Swan truly find her family … and perhaps after countless long years, she was helping him finding his as well.


	11. Chapter 11

A game of War with five took a bit of coordinating. At least one person seemed to lose all their cards relatively quickly, leaving him or her nothing to do but sit and watch the rest of the game. At least when it was the adults being kicked out of play – the sick ones especially – they were grateful for the break. When it was Henry, Snow slid him a couple of her cards with a surreptitious wink. Though he was quite a bit beyond the days of a toddler being artificially kept in the game, he still gave her a grateful grin each time.

Still, they'd managed to play four full games with the five of them. As the fifth game raged on with Emma, Charming, and Henry still in the thick of it, it became apparent to Snow that her baby girl's headache was beginning to get the best of her. She was squinting against the ambient light in the room and every so often, she would swipe her hand across her forehead.

Snow glanced up at the clock in an effort to gauge how much longer Emma had before she could take some more cold medicine. The bad news was that she still had an hour or so to go before Snow felt comfortable giving her another dose. The good news was that it was coming up on lunchtime, which would at least raise Emma's spirits … provided her annoyance with being unable to properly taste her meal didn't outweigh her excitement for the meal in the first place.

When Henry finally captured all of his mother's cards, Emma slumped back against the sofa cushions, half in defeat and half in relief. Snow and Charming exchanged a concerned glance over her head. Their poor baby was certainly stubborn, pushing herself beyond what she probably should have in the name of keeping her illness as much to herself as she could.

Then Snow smiled, leading Charming to smile as well. If Emma wanted to play this game, they could certainly play back. A sick child – even one who was a grown woman with a child of her own – was no match for concerned parents – even those who were sick themselves.

"The kid even won that one fair and square," Emma said, completely oblivious to her parents' silent communication.

Snow smiled sheepishly. Apparently her daughter had indeed caught her slipping Henry some cards to keep him in the game. Emma just chuckled and pulled the blanket tighter around her waist.

Taking that as her cue, Snow started to push herself off the sofa. Charming had some idea of what her plan was, but Emma, Henry, and Hook all sat at attention. "Where are you going?" Emma asked.

"To get lunch started," she said as if that were the most normal thing in the world.

And there it was, her baby's insistence that Snow take it easy because, after all, she was sick. "You're exhausted and you're contagious. That goes against like, every single health and food safety regulation in existence. You're not making lunch."

"Killian and I can handle lunch," Henry spoke up, once again taking his role as family caretaker very seriously.

Emma, on the other hand, expressed disbelief in the form of a single arched eyebrow. "You two are going to make lunch? Neither one of you knows how to cook–"

"Oi, I know how–" Hook interrupted only to have Emma continue talking right over him.

"Popcorn doesn't count. What are you two going to make, peanut butter sandwiches?"

"Swan, just who do you think prepared meals for a ship full of sailors?"

"The cook?"

His smile, though hidden by the hospital mask, was evident in his eyes. "I wasn't always a captain, love."

She blinked at him.

"I didn't say we were going to _make_ lunch, anyway," Henry clarified. "I said we were going to _handle_ lunch. Granny's can make it for us and we can be the delivery service."

Beside her, Snow heard Charming swallow a snicker. She herself had to bite her lower lip to keep from smiling. Emma looked like she wanted to protest but the promise of Granny's takeout was too strong for her to resist. "If you get me a grilled cheese and a cup of tomato soup, it's a deal."

"Like I had any intention of not getting you grilled cheese and tomato soup," Henry said, teasingly rolling his eyes. "What does everyone else want?"

Charming requested an egg salad sandwich with lettuce and Snow put in her order for a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato. Henry wrote everything down on the pad Snow used to keep the family's grocery list and then ran off to grab his coat … and Emma's wallet. As soon as he saw that, Charming pushed himself off the sofa to hand Henry his own wallet instead.

Hook stood as well, stretching his cramped muscles from having been seated on the floor. Then pulled his mask off and bent down to give Emma a soft kiss on the cheek. "We'll be right back, love."

Snow hid a smile when Emma's cheeks flushed an even darker shade of pink. Whether she realized it or not, her baby girl had it _bad_. "Don't let him buy the entire menu," Emma instructed, her own way of trying not to call attention to the fact that even that little kiss had likely left her weak-kneed.

Patient man that he was, Hook went right along with her. "I'll make sure he keeps his purchases to half the menu at most."

She smiled at him and, though it was clearly killing him to leave her, Hook turned and caught up with Henry at the door. Henry pulled off his mask, they both removed their gloves, and then they headed out to retrieve lunch for the family, pulling the door closed behind them.

As Charming made his way back to join his family in the living room, he peeked in on little Neal. "How's he doing?" Snow asked softly.

"Seemingly content," Charming replied as he lifted the baby from the bassinet. As Snow caught sight of her son's tiny face, she understood why Charming had answered the way he had. Their baby boy had been awake for a little while, if the clarity in his eyes was anything to go by, and he hadn't made so much as a peep.

And as Charming settled Neal in her arms, Snow felt an overwhelming sense of relief. For the first time in days, her baby boy looked _better_. His breathing still sounded a little congested but his eyes were clearer and he seemed to be much more comfortable. It seemed he was on the mend; now all they had to do was wait for the cold to finish the rounds with the adults.

Before Charming sat down, however, he had decided to attend to another bit of fatherly business. "And now for you," he said to their daughter, brushing his fingers along her forehead as a temperature check. A stubborn Emma tried to back up out of his reach but the quick movement must have been too much for her throbbing head because she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

"Why don't you lie down for a little while?" Charming suggested gently. "Your head will feel better if you're lying flat."

"It's fine," Emma insisted.

"Sweetheart, that wasn't fine," Snow told her.

Emma started to shake her head in protest only to stop short, wincing in pain. Snow winced right along with her.

That, apparently, was the last straw for Charming. Without another word, he stepped into the bathroom. Emma and Snow watched as he pulled a washcloth from the linen cabinet before disappearing further into the room, out of their view. The water at the sink ran for a little bit and a minute or so later, Charming returned with the now wet washcloth folded in half in his hand.

"Lie down," he said to their daughter, his voice soft but stern.

Emma raised her eyebrows but she must not have had the energy to argue. She did as her father instructed, lying down with her head on the pillow propped up against the arm of the sofa and her feet resting against Snow's leg.

Husband and wife exchanged a smirk as Charming bent down to set the cloth on their baby girl's forehead. As soon as the wet terrycloth touched her skin, Emma gasped. "What is it?" Charming asked, suddenly alarmed.

"It's _warm_," she replied, her surprise evident in her tone.

At that, the worried parents shared a relieved smile. She must have thought he'd made her a cool compress for her fever. "Yes, it is," Charming replied softly. "The heat will help soothe your headache."

The compress must have done its job because Emma relaxed almost instantly, her eyes drifting closed against the sudden pleasantness. "This is actually kind of nice."

Snow and Charming both smiled as she opened her eyes. As Charming eased down on the coffee table to sit with their sick children, Snow looked over her baby girl.

Just like when Emma was in the hospital, Snow was left wondering who, if anyone, had cared for her daughter when she was young. Had she ever had someone give her a warm compress to help with a sinus headache? Had she ever had someone sit with her when she was sick? Had she ever had any loving, caring attention? Or had she always just flown under the radar of true caring, where her illnesses were treated as burdens or not treated at all, leaving her to fend for herself?

She met Charming's eyes and he gave her a pained look, telling her that he, too, had been wondering about those years Emma had spent without them. Those years Emma had spent without _anyone_.

Then, out of the blue, Neal made a little babbling sound, which sent a smile to everyone's faces. "I think the squirt wants a story, Dad," Emma said, her voice soft.

Snow and Charming once again exchanged a look, this one full of touched surprise. Emma very rarely – oh, hell, _never_ – asked for stories. Granted, she was blaming said request for a story on her baby brother but it was still progress they never thought they'd see. "Oh, he does now, does he?" Charming said as soon as he recovered his voice. "What kind of story would he like?"

"You're telling the story," Emma shrugged. "You can choose."

Charming smiled. "All right, then. Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen and they had two beautiful children ..."

Emma rolled her eyes but she remained quiet. Barely three sentences into the story, however, her eyelids began to flutter. In response, Charming lowered his voice, continuing the story of their family in hushed, soothing tones. It took their stubborn baby girl a bit to give up the fight but soon her breathing evened out as she drifted off into a light sleep.

Charming let the story trail off, smiling first at his daughter and then at his wife. Emma wouldn't be asleep very long – once Henry and Hook came back with the food, the aroma of the French fries alone would rouse her – but she could certainly benefit from a little catnap.

"That was certainly easier than I thought it was going to be," Snow murmured, her amusement ringing clear in her tone.

"The heat gave her a little push," Charming replied, just as amused. "My mother used to make me a warm compress when I was sick and it always made me sleepy."

A little memory of Snow's forced its way to the surface, one that probably would have remained lost were it not for her husband's own remembrance. "My mother made one for me, too. I used to fall asleep with it over my eyes. It was just so soothing."

"It was indeed," Charming smiled. Then, with a soft touch of his daughter's cheek, he stood and headed to the kitchen to set the table for lunch.

Snow watched him for a moment, taking in his slowed, fatigued movements. The activity of the morning had clearly been hard on his sick body. Though he would protest just as much as their daughter had, she might send him in for a nap after lunch.

Now that Snow thought about it, a nap actually sounded like a wonderful idea. Her own illness was still weighing down on her, Charming was exhausted, Emma clearly needed sleep, and Henry and Hook had been caring for three sick adults and a sick baby, including now two trips on foot to gather food and supplies.

Maybe after lunch, they _all _could take a nap.

For the time being, though, Snow would sit with her sleeping baby girl and her finally calm baby boy and allow herself to bask in the moment. She had her babies with her, and as long as she did, all was right with the world.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** I have a hard time resisting the cotton candy. Not that I think y'all mind. ;) Also: you guys continue to be the best readers ever!

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><p>When Killian approached the apartment door with takeout bag in hand, the silence on the other side made him halt in his tracks. He stopped so suddenly that Henry, who was following behind him, almost collided with him. "Apologies, lad," Killian said, cringing.<p>

"It's okay." Henry listened for a moment and then looked up at Killian, his eyes registering comprehension. "It's quiet."

"Which is precisely what gave me pause."

Henry nodded and shifted the other takeout bag in his arms so he could unlock the apartment door. By silent agreement, the two of them entered the loft without making a single sound.

A smile tugged at Killian's lips when he discovered the reason for the relative silence. Swan was napping on the sofa with her feet resting against her mother's leg. The prince was seated on the coffee table and conversing softly with his wife, who was cradling her son in her arms and absentmindledly brushing her finger back and forth over his tiny cheek.

Someone had arranged the place settings on the table, David most likely. As it was, he started to stand at their entrance to help them. Killian shook his head at him, a silent instruction to stay put. He and the lad could unpack the food; the ill people should rest.

The prince smiled his gratitude, and Killian and Henry began setting out everyone's meals.

Though the only added noise in the little loft was the rustling of the takeout bags, Swan began to stir. As Killian wracked his brain to determine what had roused her, she mumbled, "Is lunch ready?"

Everyone hid amused smiles at that. "Yes, sweetheart," the princess replied. "Lunch is here."

"'Kay, good," Swan said, blinking her eyes open. "I smelled food and I was afraid I was having some kind of weird cold-induced hallucination."

That time, no one could swallow their chuckles. "No, kiddo, you weren't hallucinating," the prince teased.

With as deep a breath as she could muster through her stuffed nose, Swan sat up and stretched her cramped muscles. Then she swung her legs over the edge of the sofa, stood, and sleepily padded over to the kitchen cabinets.

The second she started pulling glasses down from the cabinet, Henry abandoned his task at the table and rushed over to take the glasses from his mother's hand. "Go sit," he instructed. "We'll get the drinks."

She raised an eyebrow at the lad but uncharacteristically didn't argue. She simply turned with a huff and headed for the table.

Henry turned to Killian, eyes wide in surprise. Killian just smirked; something told him his Swan was still half-asleep and too muddled to protest.

His instinct was proven correct when she unceremoniously plopped down in front of her grilled cheese sandwich, side of fried potato, and cup of tomato soup. She rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her palm.

She looked like she felt _miserable_.

Fully aware that he could be taking his life in his hands, Killian smiled at her and asked, "How are you feeling, Swan?"

Her only response was a shrug.

At least she was being honest. However, Killian had expected her to either argue with him or insist she was fine. Concerned, he stepped up to her chair and pressed the backs of his fingers to her cheek. At the contact, she raised her tired eyes to his and managed a little smile to calm his nerves. "I'm all right."

"Just making certain," he smiled back, moving his thumb to caress the little dimple in her chin.

While they were talking, Henry had poured drinks and gotten the rest of the food set out. The prince joined them at the table and the princess followed after setting the baby down in his bassinet. "Thank you for going to get this," she said as she sat down next to her husband.

"You're welcome," Henry grinned before popping a slice of pickle into his mouth.

As everyone dug into their meals, Killian glanced over at Swan. It was clear from her posture and movements that she hadn't been ready to awaken.

Her mother, whose own watchful eye missed nothing, observed her daughter a moment before saying, "I was thinking that we all should take a nap after lunch."

Swan wrinkled her nose. Henry hid a smile. The prince appeared as if he wanted to protest but after catching his wife's eye, he concurred with her. "I think that's a marvelous idea."

"As do I," Killian said, much to Swan's parents' surprise. When he gave a slight nod in Swan's direction, they both smiled.

"I guess I'm outnumbered," Swan grumbled.

Everyone shared a smile over her head.

Throughout the meal, Killian kept half an eye on Swan. She picked at her food, taking nibbles out of her sandwich and tiny sips of soup. He didn't think she'd even touched the strips of fried potato. Her seeming lack of an appetite was concerning, to say the least.

Just as he was about to ask her again if she was all right, the princess asked, "You still can't taste anything?"

_Of course_, Killian thought as relief washed over him. With her sense of smell dulled, her sense of taste would be dulled as well. She was picking, then, not because she didn't have an appetite but because she couldn't taste her food properly.

"Not really," Swan shrugged. "This sucks."

Her parents smiled sympathetically at her.

Swan continued to pick at her food. She managed to force down half of her sandwich and most of her soup before pushing her plate away in defeat. The princess appraised her daughter's plate, concern swimming in her eyes.

The prince comfortingly gripped his wife's hand and gave her a little smile._ It's just one meal, she'll be starving by dinnertime_, the smile said. The princess nodded, smiling back.

"Why don't you go on up and lie down, Emma?" the prince suggested gently.

Swan was nothing if not stubborn, though, so she shook her head in protest. The motion must have made her headache worse because she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Since belaboring the point would have only served to upset her, they all decided to let it sit.

"Are you feeling any better at all?" Henry asked his grandparents in an effort to kick up a conversation.

"I am," David answered. "I think staying on top of it with the medication is helping a lot."

"Same here," Snow agreed.

"What about you, kid?" Swan asked. "Do you feel like you're getting sick at all?"

"Nope," he replied. "I feel perfectly fine. No scratchy throat, no sneezing, no headache, nothing."

Swan's weary gaze flicked to Killian, silently asking the same question. "I feel right as rain as well, love," he assured her.

She nodded, smiling slightly in relief.

Soft conversation filled the room as the family continued to eat. By the time everyone was finished, Swan had once again propped her chin on her palm and her eyelids were starting to flutter. Hiding a soft smile, the princess stood, crossed the room to grab the pillow from the sofa, and circled back to the table. "Come on, Emma," she said as she rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Let's go get you settled upstairs."

Swan blinked confusedly up at her mother. Probably sensing opportunity, Snow reached down, took Swan's hand, and pulled her to her feet. Without a word of complaint, Swan allowed her mother to lead her up the metal staircase to the loft. Henry and Killian took that as their cue. They stood at the same time and began clearing the table.

The prince stood as well and gathered the young royal from the bassinet. As he headed into his bedroom to get his son as well as himself settled for a nap, he paused to address Henry and Killian. "You two have done a wonderful job today. Thank you for taking care of us."

Killian had to work hard to hide his touched surprise. "You're welcome, mate," he replied, giving the prince a reverent nod.

"This is what families do," Henry added, smiling at his grandfather.

David gave the lad a proud smile. "You both should take a well-deserved break." Then he ducked into the bedroom to get the baby settled.

Killian and Henry cleared the table and put away the leftovers. The princess returned from the loft bedroom just as they started washing the dishes. "You two have worked so hard today," she said as she tried to slip the dish towel from her grandson's hands in an effort to dry the dishes herself. Henry refused to let go, causing Snow to smile.

"You both deserve a rest as well," she continued, cupping her grandson's cheek in her palm as a show of love and gratitude. "Take a nap or just relax."

"Thank you, milady," Killian said, giving her a nod as well.

After another smile at the both of them, she slipped into the bedroom with her husband and young son.

Once Killian and Henry had placed the last dish and glass back into the cabinet, Henry heaved a sigh. "I hate to say it but a nap sounds good to me, too."

"Same here, lad," Killian agreed. Take care of people who were ill was indeed rather exhausting, far more exhausting than he anticipated.

After tossing the dish towel on the hook under the sink to dry, Henry started up the stairs to the loft and Killian followed, his intention only to grab an extra pillow and blanket to take his rest on the sofa. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight of Swan was curled up with the comforter practically over her head. Had the princess tucked her in or had she snuggled beneath the covers herself?

Henry dramatically collapsed on his bed with a mumbled request to be woken in an hour.

When Killian reached for the unused pillow on the other side of Swan's bed, her eyes fluttered open. "Are you joining me, pirate?" she mumbled, her voice slightly teasing.

Killian could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as his eyes shot to Henry. The exhausted lad had already drifted into a light sleep and thankfully hadn't at all heard his mother's soft request.

"Is that an invitation, love?" he chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Mm." Her eyes drifted closed for a brief moment before she forced them open again. "Are you waiting for your invitation to arrive in a sealed envelope?"

Killian snickered. There was his sarcastic Swan. "Not at all."

Kicking off his boots, he removed his hook from the brace and set it on her nightstand. Then he swung his legs up onto her bed and got himself situated with his back against her headboard. "Sleep, love," he murmured, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes.

She smiled and allowed her eyes to close. He had only intended to sit until she fell asleep but he had seriously misjudged his own exhaustion. By the time Swan's breathing evened out, he was half-asleep himself.

_Oh, the hell with it_, he thought, shifting position to lie down next to her. He'd garnered some goodwill with her parents today and clearly nothing untoward was happening.

And with Swan's even breathing providing a soft and comforting lullaby, Killian drifted off to sleep, hoping against hope that he would wake before her parents.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Because what fun would it be if Emma and Hook woke up first? ;)

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><p>Soft baby gurgles slowly drew Snow from a deep and warm slumber. Though little Neal sounded content as could be, she knew it was only a matter of time before the gurgling turned to fussing. He adored being held and oftentimes fussed simply to capture his parents' attention. A soft smile on her lips, Snow blinked her eyes open.<p>

The hands on the dial of her bedside clock made her gasp. She'd been asleep for close to two hours?! She bolted upright somewhat dazedly, which only succeeded in rousing her husband, who'd draped his arm across her waist in sleep. He let out a sleepy moan at being torn from his nap, causing Snow to wince. "Sorry," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

It was too late for that, however. He'd caught the time as well. Blinking in surprise, Charming sat up and smiled sheepishly at his wife. "I guess we needed that."

"I guess we did," Snow agreed. Neal babbled from his crib again, reminding Snow of the reason she'd woken up in the first place. She climbed out of bed and gathered her baby boy in her arms. Then she sat back down with her husband, smiling when Charming automatically reached for his son's tiny waving hand. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"A little more human," he replied, smiling first down at his son and then up at his wife, "though I think we're due for another dose of cold medicine."

"I think we are, too," Snow nodded. Her head was beginning to feel cotton-y again and she noticed a marked change for the worse in her ability to breathe through her nose. "And if we are–"

"So is Emma," Charming finished, nodding in agreement. Snow smiled at him.

As one, they headed out of their bedroom. Since they'd been asleep so long, Snow expected to see the rest of her family in the living room but the entire downstairs was silent and empty. _Emma must not be up from her nap yet_, Snow thought, a slight frown of concern tugging at the corners of her mouth. Were Henry and Hook upstairs waiting for her to awaken?

Charming stepped into the bathroom to retrieve their salvation, aka their next dose of cold medicine. Snow heard the water run, then turn off, and then run again. He emerged with four pills and a glass of water in his hand. _He must have taken his already_, Snow thought as he set the glass down on the counter.

They traded loads, Charming taking Neal from Snow so she could take the medicine from him. She popped her pills into her mouth, downed them with the water, and then poured a new glass at the sink for their sick baby girl. Then, with a smile at each other, the worried parents started up the stairs, Charming in front with Neal in his arms and Snow following behind them.

At the top of the staircase, Charming halted in his tracks. Every muscle in his body stiffened, sending Snow's heart into her throat. What was wrong? Had Emma's sinus infection gotten worse as she slept? Had her fever spiked? Was Snow going to walk into that room to find her Emma deep in the throes of some horrific illness that would send them running to the hospital again?

As she peeked over her husband's shoulder, however, she let out a breath of amused relief. Her baby girl was perfectly fine, buried under her covers and sleeping peacefully … curled up next to a just as peacefully sleeping pirate.

"Calm down, Charming," Snow whispered, resting a hand on her husband's shoulder and trying not to allow her amusement into her tone.

"Calm down?!" he hissed back, turning on the stairs to look her in the eye. "They're–"

"–the very picture of innocence," Snow interrupted, smiling. "They're both fast asleep. She's under the covers and he's on top of them. Besides, what do you think the two of them even would have done with Henry in his bed right next to them?"

From her husband's pursed lips, Snow gathered that she didn't even want to know what he thought the two of them had gotten up to. "Come," she whispered as she turned to head back downstairs. "Leave them be."

"Leave them be?" Charming whispered forcefully behind her. Snow hid a smile. Apparently a Charming fully in overprotective father mode could only repeat his wife's own words back to her in disbelief.

Despite his flustered attitude, he followed Snow down the stairs. He did, however, protest the whole way. "You want to just leave them be? There is a pirate in our daughter's bed – _with our daughter!_ – and you want to just leave them be?!"

"Yes." Snow stepped into the kitchen to begin a batch of cocoa for her family. "Our daughter is sick and needs her rest. She is also an adult who can make her own decisions, and if she wants a pirate to sleep next to her, then so be it. Do you really think that she didn't ask him to stay with her?" At that, Charming softened a little. "Besides, you have to admit, they looked rather adorable."

Charming again pursed his lips, leading Snow to hide a smile. Apparently he had to admit nothing of the sort.

A moment later, though, he raised his eyes to the staircase and considered his wife's words. A moment after that, he softened completely, the tension in his posture relaxing. "I guess so," he said, flicking his gaze to Snow.

"You guess so what?"

"I guess they looked rather adorable," he begrudgingly admitted.

Snow allowed that smile to show.

In an effort to save face, Charming added, "I reserve my right to give him a hard time, though."

"I never expected anything different," Snow said, her smile growing wider.

Charming eased down at the island, cradling a content baby Neal in his arms. Their son was due for a feeding in a little while but Snow hoped she would be able to get the cocoa made and poured before he started to fuss.

She and her husband and baby boy enjoyed each other's company in relative silence. As the milk warmed on the stove, it hit Snow that she felt almost human again. Perhaps the nightmare portion of this cold would only last another few hours and it would fade into a normal everyday annoying cold instead. She could deal with the stuffy nose and the scratchy throat; the body aches and the fatigue were what was making her miserable.

A couple minutes later, footsteps sounded from the loft above. Someone else was up. Snow and Charming shared a smile as a sleepy Henry padded down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. "I only meant to sleep for an hour," he said as he took a seat at the island next to Charming.

"Taking care of people is hard work," Charming said, smiling at his grandson.

"Apparently." Henry reached out to little Neal, greeting his uncle with a tiny handshake. "Have you guys been up long?"

"We just got up a few minutes ago," Snow assured him.

Henry let out a breath of relief. Clearly he'd been worried he'd been shirking his caretaker duties by accidentally napping so long. "How are you guys feeling?"

"Better," Charming said. Snow nodded her agreement.

The boy smiled, thrilled by the news that his grandparents were feeling better. "Mom and Killian should be down soon. They were both starting to wake up when I came down."

Sure enough, within ten minutes, soft voices began to filter down the stairs. Though she knew she shouldn't, Snow strained to try to make out what they were saying. She picked out "crap" and "parents" (both Emma) and "have my head" (that was Hook) before the sound of their footsteps on the creaking floorboards drowned out their voices.

Snow stifled a smile when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the two of them creeping down the stairs. Clearly they were hoping to have made it downstairs before anyone else – minus Henry – had awoken. As soon as they caught sight of everyone in the kitchen, Emma winced and Hook looked defeated.

After checking the cocoa to make sure she could leave it for a moment, Snow grabbed the final dose of cold medicine and the glass of water from the counter. She approached her daughter just as she and Hook reached the bottom of the staircase. A sheepish Hook slid past them as Snow held out the pills and glass to her daughter. "Here you go, sweetheart."

"Thanks," Emma mumbled, still somewhat embarrassed. Snow touched her arm to capture her attention and smiled at her, telling her everything was perfectly fine.

She couldn't deny how much happier her baby girl had been since her trip to the past. She swore Emma had smiled more in the past few days than she had in the entire time Snow had known her, and that was including her time as Mary Margaret. And she knew that Emma's happiness and newfound relative ease with all of them was due in no small part to Hook.

In the end, all she and Charming wanted was for their little girl to be happy and healthy. And for the first time since Snow had known her, she finally seemed like she was.

Emma smiled back, a smile equal parts understanding and gratitude. Then she took her medicine and the two of them returned to the stove.

Henry had gotten up to retrieve mugs for everyone from the cabinet, and Snow and Emma approached just in time to hear the end of Hook's soft apology to Charming. "I assure you, mate, it was wholly innocent."

Charming caught Snow's eye, and she sent him an encouraging smile. "I know," he said. Emma and Hook exchanged a surprised glance; clearly they'd expected him to have gone through the roof. And then Charming said something that visibly shocked both his daughter and her pirate. "Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter."

"You're welcome, mate," Hook said after he'd recovered his voice.

Emma, on the other hand, teasingly huffed and pursed her lips. "You are aware that I'm an adult and can take care of myself, right?"

"Of course, love," Hook sputtered hastily.

"Adult or not," Charming said with a loving smile at his daughter, "you'll always be my baby."

And Snow could see the tiny conflict that still resided within Emma, the embarrassment at being treated even somewhat like a kid and the sheer joy of finally, at long last, being someone's baby.

Before, the independent adult within Emma would have won out, leading her to say something sarcastic in an effort to take everyone's attention off the open affection. Now, though … now Emma gave her father a little smile and, to both her parents' great joy, softly but still very Emma-like said, "I guess in the grand scheme of things, I can live with that."


	14. Chapter 14

_Being sick totally sucks_, Emma thought for what felt like the thousandth time. She felt like all she'd done since the previous night was sleep but it wasn't nearly enough. She had no energy to speak of and even something as simple as walking down the stairs and into the kitchen had left her winded. Her head had also started to pound again. Lying down during her nap had helped a great deal with the sinus pressure … not that she was about to admit _that_ to anyone.

Basically, she hadn't even been noticeably sick for twenty-fours yet and she was already completely done with it.

Her very perceptive kid and her equally perceptive pirate exchanged a concerned glance, and a moment later, Henry vacated his seat at the island while Killian gently ushered her over to the now empty stool. She opened her mouth to protest but Henry cut her off with an insistent, "You need to sit."

All right, her kid's time as family caretaker had definitely gone to his head. Still, sitting did sound like a wonderful idea and it wasn't like anyone was going to let her argue so she wordlessly plopped down next to her father and baby brother. Killian sidled up beside her and now that everyone in the family was settled, Snow reclaimed her place at the stove with the cocoa.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" David asked, a tender smile on his face at the way Emma's hand automatically reached out to grasp her baby brother's.

It was on the tip of her tongue to insist that she was fine. Or maybe insist she would be a lot better if everyone would stop asking how she was feeling because once again she had a _cold_, for crying out loud, not the plague. As her eyes locked on her father's, however, she changed her mind.

All her life, she'd longed for this. All her life, she'd wanted people to care how she was feeling. And yeah, it may have been embarrassing to have her parents – who were the same age as she was – hovering over her as if she were five years old, but at the same time, it was really kind of nice. It showed they cared. It showed they loved her. And after twenty-nine long years of tending to her own illnesses, maybe it was time to allow others tend to it with her.

Not that she was going to admit that out loud, either. So, with her typical sarcasm, she said, "If I could find a way to detach my head from my body, I'd be wonderful."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "We could try the shower treatment with you, too, if you want. It might loosen some of that ick up, which would help with the pressure."

That actually sounded like a really good idea. "Yeah, maybe," she said, smiling back.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Henry cried before taking off for the bathroom without another word of explanation. The adults all shared a frown of confusion. What the hell was the kid up to now?

A moment later, they had their answer. Henry rushed out of the bathroom with a pair of gloves and the thermometer in his hands. Emma groaned, causing Snow and Charming and even Killian – the traitor – to stifle chuckles. "Kid, we just drank water with our medicine," she whined. "Our temperatures aren't going to be accurate."

"The water wasn't that cold," David said. Emma shot him a glare. What was with the guys in her life going all Benedict Arnold on her today?

"It's better to take your temperatures now before you all drink _hot_ cocoa," Henry argued, hiding a little smirk. "Unless of course you _want_ your temperature to read a hundred and four ..."

"Fine," Emma huffed. "I guess we'll do it now." The last time her temperature had read a hundred and four, she'd ended up in the hospital. Of course, then her temperature actually had been a hundred and four and she'd had pneumonia. This was just a little cold plus sinus infection with a low-grade fever.

Henry smiled almost smugly at her as he slipped a protective sleeve on the thermometer and handed it to Snow. "You're going first, Gramma, just like last time."

Once again humoring her grandson, Snow slipped the thermometer from his hand and stuck the tip under her tongue. She worked on the cocoa as they awaited the device's verdict, stirring the warm chocolate to keep it from scorching.

When she heard the beep, Snow removed it from her mouth and glanced down at the display to check the damage. "Hey, look at that," she said, smiling as she handed the thermometer back to Henry. "I'm down to 98.9."

"All right, Gramma," Henry grinned as he cleared the thermometer. He stripped off the protective sleeve, threw it away, and slid another one on before handing the thermometer to David. "Now it's your turn."

"Oh, yeah?" David asked as he handed the squirt to Emma to free up his hands. "What do I win if my temperature is lower than Snow's?"

Killian swallowed a snort. "Only your family could turn illness into a friendly competition, love," he whispered to Emma.

She smiled. That was certainly the truth.

"You win the task of making dinner this evening," Snow grinned.

David wrinkled his nose at his wife, which made Emma smirk. Henry pursed his lips, clearly worried about allowing the sick people near the food. "She's kidding," Emma whispered to her kid. He let out a soft breath of relief.

While waiting for the thermometer to beep, Emma focused her attention on her baby brother. To her immense relief, he looked much, much better. His eyes were bright, shiny, and clear, and he didn't sound anywhere near as congested. "Are you feeling better, squirt?" she murmured, smiling when he wrapped his little hand around her index finger. "You look like you're feeling better."

"Aye, he does," Killian agreed from behind her. His hand, which he'd rested on her shoulder, disappeared just long enough for him to reach around her and brush his thumb across the baby's forehead.

"I think he's doing a lot better," Snow spoke up, smiling, "which, might I add, is a good sign for all of us."

That was true as well. If Patient Zero's condition was already on the upswing, the rest of them would probably be feeling a lot better by the morning.

The thermometer finally beeped and a smile curled on David's lips when he checked the screen. "Another good sign," he said, handing the device to his grandson. "I'm down to 99.1."

"Congratulations," Emma smirked. A lowered temperature _and_ he was off the hook for dinner for the night. That was the best of both worlds.

"And it looks like the healthy people are still on tap for dinner," Henry grinned.

Snow smiled at the family banter as she removed the pot of cocoa from the burner and set it aside to cool a little before pouring. As she arranged the mugs, Henry slid a new sleeve on the thermometer and held it out to his mother. "You're up."

With a smile that was equal parts tenderness and mirth, David slipped the squirt from her arms so she was free to take the thermometer. Emma heaved a sigh but snatched the thermometer from her kid's hand without complaint. Her parents' fevers were hanging on by a thread; hopefully hers had gone down as well.

As they awaited the beep that would decide her fate – all right, so being sick made her a little overdramatic sometimes – Killian placed his hand on the small of her back and smiled down at her. She smiled back, her cheeks flushing and heart skipping a beat when he rubbed circles on her back.

His hand was gone a moment later and she was left wondering how he always knew how to give her the perfect amount of comfort. The gentle touch had been just enough, a way to let her know that he was there without overstating it.

The thermometer finally beeped and when she pulled it from her mouth, Emma's smile grew wider. "Down to 99.5," she said as she handed it to Henry for verification. It was still a marginal fever and it was still the highest of her family but at least it was going in the right direction.

Everyone smiled at her, their relief apparent. "A couple more doses of medicine and that sucker will cry uncle," David said.

Emma nodded, sudden tears pricking her eyes. For so many years, she'd treated her own fevers and taken care of herself. Now … now she had people who forced medicine down her throat and made her take her temperature and who wouldn't dream of letting her go through any illness alone, even something as simple as a cold plus sinus infection.

It was foreign … but it was also wonderful.

Before Emma could even begin working out the complicated emotions swirling through her, Snow slid a mug of cocoa across the island to her. "Thanks, Mom," Emma said, picking up her mug as Snow distributed the rest of them. There was something comforting about grasping the warm ceramic tightly in her hands, and the cocoa did wonders for her scratchy throat.

For a long moment, everyone just sat quietly and sipped their cocoa. Then, after a glance up at the clock, Henry said, "I know you guys are feeling better but I can tell you're not going to be up to doing much. How does putting on another movie sound?"

The adults all exchanged a glance. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," David said, answering for all of them.

Henry smiled, then flicked his eyes to Emma. "What do you say, think we should go with _Back to the Future II_?"

Killian's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Two? Marty McFly has a second adventure?"

"Actually, he has three," Emma informed him, hiding a smirk. "We have to find out why something needs to be done about his and Jennifer's kids, don't we?"

"Aye, love, I suppose we do," Killian replied, smiling at her.

"All right, then," Emma smiled back. "_Back to the Future II_ works for me, kid."

"Me, too," Snow said.

"Me, three," David added.

Emma groaned and rolled her eyes. God, dad jokes were so embarrassing.

"All right, you guys go get settled," Henry instructed around a snicker. "I'll get the movie."

"The doctor has handed down his care plan," Emma sighed after Henry had disappeared up the stairs. Everyone chuckled but they still shifted themselves over to the living room without a word of argument. They reclaimed their previous positions, Emma squeezed in on the sofa between her parents, the little squirt in David's arms, and Killian sitting on the floor at Emma's feet.

"Are you doing all right, love?" he asked as they got settled.

"I'm good," she assured him, which was mostly the truth. Her head was pounding but beyond that, she actually felt okay.

He smiled at her and then turned the question on her parents.

"We're doing well, thank you," Snow smiled. David nodded his agreement, a touched smile on his lips as well.

Henry returned then with the movie, smiling upon seeing everyone's position, and stuck the DVD into the player. "_Part II_, here we come," he said as he sat down at his grandfather's feet.

Emma noted with amusement that Killian seemed to be absolutely fascinated with the whole notion of a flying DeLorean. Which really shouldn't have shocked him, considering his ship had flown on more than one occasion.

A few minutes into the movie, however, Emma's pounding head became too much for her. She fidgeted, trying to slouch enough to rest her head against the back of the couch. It was no use; the sofa was too crowded.

Snow wrapped her arm around Emma's shoulders and lightly pulled her towards her. And then Emma did something that shocked both Snow and herself: she curled into her mother's side and rested her head on her shoulder.

She heard Snow gasp softly and then she felt Snow press a soft kiss to the top of her head. Emma blinked back the new tears of love and comfort that had welled in her eyes before they could fall.

It took Emma a minute to notice that the pain in her head had faded from throbbing to a dull ache. It was obviously just the change in position that had eased her headache, but a new thought ran through her head. It was the epitome of cheese and she would deny even thinking it until the cows came home but for the briefest of moments, Emma wondered if somehow her mom had actually kissed it better.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** I know I say it all the time, but you guys are the best. Thanks for being the amazing readers you are. I hope you've enjoyed this story! It was a fun one for me to write. :)

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><p>About half an hour into the movie, Neal began to squirm in Charming's arms. Snow knew in an instant that their baby boy was finally getting hungry. The only problem was, their baby girl was still cuddled up with her mother. Snow was loath to get up because snuggle time with Emma was an opportunity she was more than likely never going to get again but she knew she had to move.<p>

Charming glanced over at them, his eyes sparkling with love and tenderness at the sight of his daughter resting against his wife. Her eyes must have been closed because Charming met Snow's gaze and mouthed, _Is she asleep?_

Snow smiled and gave a slight shake of her head before steeling herself for what she had to do next. She'd waited so long for Emma to allow her in like this that it was a damn shame to have to break up the moment. "Emma, sweetie," she murmured, gently shaking her daughter's knee.

Emma lifted her head and blinked somewhat dazedly at her mother.

Snow smiled apologetically and brushed her fingers across her poor sick baby girl's forehead. "Your brother's hungry."

"Oh," Emma said as she sat up straight. She squinted, telling Snow that her headache had exploded again with the position change. Snow's heart ached; having to take care of one baby had caused the other pain.

Of course, she could always count on her white knight of a husband to swoop in for the rescue. As soon as Snow slipped the baby from his arms, Charming shifted closer to Emma and slung an arm around her shoulders. A little smile of relief curled on Emma's lips as she leaned into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

The sheer amount of adoration and joy on Charming's face at holding his daughter was nothing short of magic. Snow winked at him over Emma's head, and he grinned back. Then, secure in the knowledge that their grownup baby's needs were being tended to by her father, Snow slipped into her room to tend to their baby boy's needs.

She changed him first, getting him into his PJs despite the early hour. It was her hope that she'd be able to put him down early tonight, seeing as he seemed to be breathing a lot easier. Emma would be able to take the humidifier guilt-free tonight, if this kept up. "Are you feeling better, Neal?" she murmured, smiling as he waved his little hands in the air while she changed him.

He seemed to be feeling much better, if the clarity in his eyes and the sound of his breathing were anything to go by. He seemed to have a bit more energy, too; she could tell he was tired but he wasn't fussing and squirming the way he had been the past couple of days. He seemed … comfortable.

Which was an enormous relief.

After she got Neal all comfy and cozy in his pajamas, Snow took him over to her bed to nurse.

Her boy was _hungry, _which thrilled Snow. His appetite had clearly bounced back and without the congestion in the way, he was able to drink every drop he could fit in his little stomach.

By the time Neal was full and had dozed off in her arms, almost an hour had passed. She gently set him in his crib, caressing his little forehead and whispering, "Sleep tight, baby boy." Then she turned on the baby monitor, picked up the hand unit, and crept back out to the living room.

Henry and Hook were enthralled by _Back to the Future II_ – which struck Snow as amusing because Henry had already seen this movie a few times – but Charming was enthralled with their baby girl, who was still curled into his side with her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, more than likely equal parts exhaustion and a meager attempt to curb her headache .

Though she would never admit it, the sinus infection was taking a lot out of her.

Snow smiled and approached the sofa. As she passed her husband, she leaned down and murmured softly enough that only he could hear, "We should give her a steam treatment when she's a little more awake."

"After dinner," Charming whispered back in agreement.

With a soft smile, Snow eased down on the sofa. The added weight startled Emma, who lifted her head and gave her mother a somewhat bleary smile. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked.

"All right," Emma shrugged. "Still wish I could detach my head, but what can you do?"

Her parents both smiled comfortingly at her, and then they settled in to watch the rest of the movie.

It had been a while since Snow had seen it, so long that she'd forgotten it ended on a cliffhanger. When the credits began to roll, Hook, who'd apparently never experienced a cliffhanger before, cried, "Oi!" He turned to Emma, a scandalized look on his face. "The story ends without a resolution?"

"There's a third movie," Emma reminded him. "We can watch it after dinner, if you're that intrigued."

From Hook's audible breath of relief and the way the tension in his shoulders relaxed at the assurance that the story had a proper ending, Snow gathered that they were indeed going to be watching the third one after dinner.

Which reminded her: "What are we going to do for dinner?"

"Killian and I talked about this when we went to get lunch," Henry spoke up. "We're going to make spaghetti and throw together a salad."

Emma, of course, objected. "Kid–"

"Mom, it's like, the easiest dinner in the history of dinners," Henry insisted. "We can boil some pasta and heat a jar of sauce through. And a salad is literally throwing vegetables in a bowl. We can handle it."

Emma flicked her eyes to her pirate but if she was expecting him to help her out, she was sorely mistaken. "It'll be fine, love. You sit and relax with your parents and let the lad and me prepare dinner."

Then, before anyone else could object, the two of them stood and headed to the kitchen to get the meal going. Snow and Charming exchanged a surprised and touched smile. Emma rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>Snow had to hand it to them; a twelve-year-old boy and a centuries-old pirate were indeed able to put together a decent spaghetti dinner.<p>

Who would have thought?

Among the five of them, they managed to eat everything Henry and Hook had prepared, up to and including the slices of Italian bread Henry had set on the table, along with a stick of butter, as an afterthought. Snow noted with relief that Emma had eaten everything on her plate and that Charming had had two helpings. She'd been able to taste enough of her own dinner to go in for seconds as well, proof positive that all their appetites were returning.

"You guys did good," Emma spoke up as she set her fork down.

Henry and Hook shared a smirk over Emma's head, both of them knowing that was the closest they were going to get to an apology for doubting their culinary abilities.

"You absolutely did," Snow agreed, giving both her grandson and the pirate a kind smile. "Thank you very much for all your hard work today."

"You're very welcome, milady," Hook said, giving her a reverent nod. Then he and Henry stood and began clearing the table.

Emma wrapped her hands around her dish to clear her place only to have Henry swoop in and take the plate, her empty glass, and her utensils away from her. Undeterred, she tried to clear Snow's place only for Hook to take that plate from her with a teasing smirk.

She huffed, and Snow and Charming swallowed chuckles. "Come on, Emma," Snow said as Hook started on the dishes while Henry finished clearing the table. "Let's go back to the couch."

"No," her stubborn daughter said as she turned to head towards the stairs. "I'm going to get the movie first."

Charming and Snow smirked at each other. No matter how much she didn't want to admit it, their baby girl was feeling miserable, as evidenced by the return of the Princess of Crankiness. Deciding they could let her have the tiny amount of independence to get the movie from upstairs, they left the kitchen to get themselves situated.

As Snow tiptoed into her bedroom to check on Neal, Charming ducked into the bathroom to retrieve more cold medicine for everyone who needed it. A moment later, she heard the shower turn on as Charming set about preparing the bathroom for their daughter's steam treatment.

Neal had awoken and was lying contentedly in the crib. Snow scooped him up, murmuring soft comforts, and carried him out of the bedroom. Charming met her at the sofa, slipping Neal from her arms long enough for her to take the proffered medicine. "Thank you," she said as he handed the baby back to her.

"You're welcome," he replied, smiling.

Emma returned a moment later, and Charming waylaid her before she could get far enough away from the bathroom to avoid the steam treatment. "You're coming with me," he said as he slipped the DVD from her hand, set it on the counter, and tugged her towards the bathroom to sit for a few minutes in the swirling steam.

She sighed but she didn't argue. Snow assumed she simply didn't have the energy to do so.

With nothing to do but await her family's return, Snow got settled on the couch with her baby boy. For a long moment, the only sounds were the clinking of the dishes and utensils as the boys put everything away and the shower running in the bathroom.

Then the water turned off and Henry closed the cabinet after tucking the last glass back where it belonged. Within a minute, Charming and Emma emerged from the bathroom and Henry and Hook headed out of the kitchen.

"How are you feeling, love?" Hook asked, giving Emma a tender smile.

"Better," she replied.

She _sounded_ better, for now, anyway. The steam treatment worked wonders but it wasn't a permanent solution. Still, if it made Snow's baby girl feel better for even a little bit of time, it was well worth it.

By silent agreement, everyone assumed their previous positions. Emma squeezed in between Snow and Charming on the sofa. Hook and Henry slipped the DVD into the player – Hook didn't understand how the little box made the moving pictures appear and watched Henry insert the disc in an effort to figure it out – and the two of them reclaimed their seats on the floor.

As the movie began, Snow settled in comfortably with one baby in her arms and the other baby once again cuddling into her side. "Are you ready for the third and final adventure with Marty McFly and Doc Brown?" Emma asked, nudging Hook with her toes.

"Aye, love. I'm intrigued and very interested in how the story ends."

Hook and Henry became enthralled almost immediately. Snow, on the other hand, kept one eye on the movie and one eye on her sick family members. The steam treatment must have sapped both her husband's and her daughter's already tenuous energy reserve because within a few minutes, both of them were fighting sleep.

Wholly unconsciously, Emma shifted to rest her head on her father's shoulder and finally let her eyes close. The closeness with his baby girl must have been what Charming was unconsciously waiting for, because he rested his cheek against the top of Emma's head and drifted off to sleep himself.

Henry turned to say something but the words died in his throat when he spotted his mother and grandfather. He grinned and nudged Killian, who started upon being torn from the movie. "What is it, lad?" he asked.

Smiling, Henry put his finger to his lips and pointed up to Charming and Emma. Hook smiled as well before standing and spreading a blanket across Charming's, Emma's, and Snow's laps.

Snow smiled a thank you up at Hook and, with happiness for her daughter filling her heart, watched him brush his fingers across her forehead, a gesture that was equal parts checking for her fever and offering her silent comfort. Then he once again settled on the floor with Henry.

Snow glanced down at the content little baby in her arms and then over at her husband and daughter, cuddled up together in sleep. And it struck her that this right here, sitting here with her family surrounding her – unconventional though her family may be and despite the miserable cold they shared – was absolute perfection.


End file.
